


Game, Set, Match

by gentlepigeon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tennis Rivals, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Matchmaking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Self-Indulgent, bokuto isn’t terrible at math AU, suga is a bastard mom with a gambling addiction, too long to be crack but it sort of is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24834643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlepigeon/pseuds/gentlepigeon
Summary: Last year, Keiji Akaashi suffered a defeat at the Kanto Region Tournament Champtionship at the hands of Fukurodani's Koutarou Bokuto. This year, he'll do anything to make sure he wins. Except, Bokuto is just a really nice guy, and Akaashi can't help but to go along with whatever will make him happy.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 42
Kudos: 41





	1. Aobajohsai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’ll be slightly altering all of the characters and schools in order to fit this tennis universe, and every chapter will start with a little profile of how the character/school fits in :) also tennis details will be at the bottom of each chapter when I feel it might be necessary!!
> 
> ALSO, this will probably end up around 50k and I'm hoping to have it done by September (or maybe October depending on what happens with preparations for the second wave)

Aobajohsai - sometimes known as Seijoh

Aobajohsai is located in the outer suburbs of Tokyo and has one of the best tennis teams in the country, both currently and historically. For them, three years without a Kanto tournament championship trophy counts as a dry spell. But chances are, if they don’t win, they’ve finished in the top eight at the very least.   
Aobajohsai isn’t known for having exceptionally strong players, but they are known for their technique and stamina. They aren’t afraid to exploit their opponents weaknesses on the court and don’t mind playing a little dirty, but they’ve never been called for it due to their impeccable off the court attitude.

Coach: Ittetsu Takeda  
Third-Years: Hajime Iwaizumi, Tooru Oikawa, Kiyoko Shimizu, Koushi Sugawara   
Second-Years: Keiji Akaashi, Chikara Ennoshita, Yuu Nishinoya, Ryunosuke Tanaka   
First-Years: Tobio Kageyama, Akira Kunimi

\---

Akaashi sat on the metal bleachers, cracking his knuckles one by one. He started with his left pinky, pushing it towards the palm to crack the upper joint then backwards to crack the lower one. One, two, then onto his ring finger. Three, four, middle finger. Four, five, pointer. Six, seven, then he formed a fist with his thumb on the inside, cracking its lower joint. He began again on his right hand, starting with the pinky and working his way down to the thumb.

He was excited and anxious for the tennis season to begin. Today was to be their first practice, that is, if Takeda didn’t spend the whole time talking. It was the first practice of the season, and Takeda was always one to make sure the team was acquainted with the new first-years. A full practice was unlikely, at best.

Akaashi had been working hard over summer break to make sure what happened at the Kanto Tournament last year didn’t happen again, though, so he might have to convince someone to stay after and hit with him. 

“Akaashi,” A quiet voice said. He looked up to see Kiyoko, their manager, pushing a cart. “Would you give me a hand opening some cans for practice?”

He nodded. “We shouldn’t need many new balls, though. I’d be surprised if Takeda even has us play any practice matches. How many first-years do we have?”

She flipped through a few papers on a clipboard. “Two,”

“Hm,” He said, cracking open a can and dropping the three balls inside into the cart. “That’s not very many.”

“No.”

Akaashi watched the team members wander onto the courts as it grew closer to the time practice was scheduled to begin. Suga showed up on time, predictably, as did Ennoshita. Two dark-haired boys came in next at the same time while trying to look like they didn’t know each other. It might’ve fooled some people, if those people hadn’t been Akaashi, Kiyoko, and Suga. 

Akaashi made eye contact with Suga, who dropped his racquet bag off next to Akaashi before circling back to talk to the first-years. 

Just as time turned to 3:30, Oikawa bounced onto the court with Iwaizumi carrying both their bags behind him. He made notice of the first-years as well, opting to join Suga’s conversation with them. Iwaizumi took a seat on the bleacher behind Akaashi. 

“You’re still his best friend?” Akaashi asked.

“Unfortunately,” Iwaizumi replied. “You think Takeda will be here soon?”

Akaashi nodded. 

Right on cue, Takeda appeared being pulled onto the court by Nishinoya. Tanaka was nowhere to be seen. Takeda said something to the small group near him, and they came over to the bleachers. Once everyone was settled, the yearly speech began.

“Right,” Takeda said, looking like the picture of professionalism and athleticism with his too-big glasses and off-balance way of standing. “I’m Ittetsu Takeda. As most of you know, I teach English, and as you’ve figured out, I also coach the boy’s tennis club,”

“Yay, Take-chan!” Oikawa said, giving him a small round of applause. The smaller of the first-years, the one with the center part, looked around at the rest of the team to see if they clapped as well. The other first-year seemed to have the right idea, though, looking rather annoyed. Or maybe that was just his face.

Takeda continued, barely raising an eyebrow at Oikawa’s show of support. “We have a tradition of excellence here at Seijoh. You will be expected to uphold a certain standard of character. That is, you are not allowed to smoke, drink alcohol…”

And so on. Takeda continued to list the things the team was absolutely not allowed to do at any cost. It was part of a new initiative from the prefectural superintendent, Akaashi had learned the other day. Or rather, as Takeda had complained about to Akaashi the other day. I’d rather be coaching than telling them all the things they can’t do while I’m coaching them. Akaashi, can you pass me the multiple choice answer key?

“...and I expect you to be good sports to players on other teams. There is a great privilege in playing tennis at a school like Aobajohsai, and very few other teams have that same privilege. They may not have been privy to the same resources you have, and this may be their first year playing. Don’t trash-talk players when they’re off the court, and always shake hands at the end of a match–”

“Unless it’s Fukurodani, and you’re at the Kanto Tournament!!” A voice called from across the courts. Akaashi felt his face heat. Tanaka really had no scruples when it came to, well, anything. But especially making fun of his teammates.

Takeda fixed Tanaka with a glare. Tanaka melted under its heat and scurried to the bleachers to sit near Nishinoya. 

Akaashi wondered where he’d been, what made him late. Probably had to retake a quiz or something.

“Even when it’s Fukurodani, especially when it’s the Kanto Tournament, and always when you lose,” Takeda amended. “Taking your frustration out on your opponents by being rude is not a productive way to manage your emotions and learning to do so will affect you off the court. If you’re going to be a part of my team, you will not act cheap or uncouth.” He paused. It could have been for dramatic effect, and it could have been to catch his breath. 

It was a bit windy out. 

Takeda grinned. “Now we’re going to get to know each other! I want everyone to sit in a circle right here,” he pointed to the court, “and then we’re all going to introduce ourselves!”

Akaashi did as he was told, taking his seat in between Kiyoko and Suga. 

“We’re going to go around the circle, say our names, class, one interesting fact about ourselves, and what we are most looking forward to this season. I’ll start, and after me will be Nishinoya, and so on. My name is Ittetsu Takeda, I’m a teacher, I lived in New Zealand during–”

Suga leaned in to Akaashi. “500 yen Kageyama over there has an aneurysm after he realizes we’re not going to get anything done today,”

Akaashi considered it. The first-year’s scowl seemed to etch deeper into his face every time Takeda mentioned something about teamwork. “I’ll give you the money if you have time for a few sets afterward,”

“Deal.” Suga said, delighted that he won no matter the outcome of the first-year, Kageyama’s, arteries. 

Takeda was still talking about New Zealand, as he was prone to do. Next, he’d start talking about English literature, and then Japanese literature, and then he’d get on his anti-colonialism soapbox. The only thing he wouldn’t ramble on for hours about were his tennis career and his personal life, despite Oikawa’s and Suga’s near-constant wheedling. They knew he had played in college, and they knew he had won two championships in his division, but beyond that he wasn’t exactly secretive, per say, just not forthcoming. But whatever he had done, it had been enough to get him hired at Aobajohsai nearly right out of college.

Takeda finally surrendered speaking privileges to Nishinoya, who was as prone to excitable chatter as the coach. 

Akaashi let his mind wander. He might listen to the first-years if they seemed interesting, but he already knew enough about everyone else. He’d tutored Tanaka in Modern Japanese Lit the year before, for God’s sake. And his life was already spicy enough without Oikawa trying to add his definition of ‘spice’ into it. The amount of girls he’d had to reject when Oikawa had decided to just refer all of his admirers to him for a few months was staggering. It almost gave him a little more respect for the asshole. Almost. 

He looked back at the group. Akaashi would play number one again. Iwaizumi could be number two, if not for his loyalty to being Oikawa’s doubles partner. Oikawa was a clear four, not for lack of athleticism, but because he needed a doubles partner in order to play at his best. So with Iwaizumi still tangled up with Oikawa, it meant Suga was currently number two, just like last year. 

Nishinoya finished his turn by addressing the first-years and asking them to call him senpai. Tanaka, next to him, looked floored with the idea and began his turn by asking the same thing. 

Akaashi wondered if any of the first-years were good enough to disrupt that order. Probably not. Although they had to be talented, neither of them looked very confident. Kageyama looked ready to jump at the throat of anyone who told him his bag was unzipped, and the other one just looked bored. Neither of them seemed particularly happy to be there.

“Akaashi,” Suga hissed. He jerked up to see the team’s expectant (or at least halfway-expectant) faces.

“Hi,” he said. “My name is Akaashi, I’m a second-year, I’m a teaching assistant for Takeda-sensei, and this year I’m most looking forward to playing Fukurodani again.”

Nobody seemed surprised by anything he said. Good. If this could just go by a little faster–

Next to him, Suga flashed a smile. “Howdy! I’m Sugawara, but you can call me Suga. I’m a third-year, I’m a gemini so I love spicy food, and what I’m most looking forward to this season is learning to work better as a team!”

“That’s it!” The gruff voice of the scowling first-year, Kageyama, said. “I’m sick of all this teamwork crap! Tennis is an individual sport, I don’t see why we’re wasting so much time talking to each other,”

“That’s a lot of words for you, isn’t it, Tobio-chan?” Oikawa goaded.

Takeda sighed. “Kageyama, you’ll be playing against Oikawa and Iwaizumi during practice tomorrow. Suga, are you done?”

Suga nodded serenely while Kageyama sputtered across the circle from him. 

“Right. Now it’s Iwaizumi’s turn. Iwaizumi?”

Akaashi couldn’t help but partially agree with what Kageyama said. Tennis was an individual sport, but that didn’t mean having a team of supporters didn’t help. A team, even if they weren’t on the court with you, was still your ally. Still, Takeda did waste a lot of time introducing them to each other. They’d learned more than enough about each other on the long bus rides to tournaments and the dinners when they won. Which was a lot. Aobajohsai won a lot. They were a good team.

But that wasn’t the sort of thing you say on your first day of practice as a first-year. 

And what was that thing with Oikawa? He’d called him Tobio-chan. Sure, Oikawa gave everyone a dumb nickname, but it usually took him at least a day or two to come up with them. Seriously, Akaashi wouldn’t be surprised if he had a secret drawer filled with notecards with crossed-out lists of nicknames for everyone he’d met. 

They got the chance to hit after all. Nothing special, just their warm-up routine. Ran some laps, did some stretches. They finally got their racquets out with only fifteen minutes left of scheduled practice time. 

Time turned to 5:00, and Takeda declared practice was over, waving goodbye to the team as they trickled off the court. 

He nodded to Akaashi and Suga who remained on the court. They nodded back in response.

“Didn’t think that would work,” Suga remarked, hitting a backhand to the center of the court.

Akaashi returned it easily. “What, bringing up teamwork in your little question of the day introduction in order to win your bet?”

“Oh, Mr. Refreshing, you’re gambling?” Oikawa’s voice drifted over from behind the chain-linked fence of the courts. “You can’t have won anything good if you’re warming up to play Kei-chan right now,”

“He’s paying me 500 yen for this, so I barely even had to gamble. Isn’t that right, Akaashi?”

Akaashi made a noncommittal sound. His back was to Oikawa, so he couldn’t very well add much to the conversation. 

“Tell you what, Iwa-chan and I will play you in doubles and we can talk shit about everyone else. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Fun for you, maybe. And why did you even leave after practice ended? It’s barely been ten minutes.” Akaashi said, catching the ball on his racquet before turning around.

Oikawa clapped in delight. “That’s a fun trick, Kei-chan. You should teach me how to be so smooth and graceful like you,”

“Only if you teach me how the hell you have a friend despite your horrible personality,” Akaashi mumbled, taking the tennis ball and putting it in his pocket. Oikawa had pointedly ignored his question. He filed that little bit of information away. Akaashi motioned for Suga to come over to his side of the court. 

Oikawa pouted as he and Iwaizumi took their places on the other side of the court. “Aw, you made us look into the sun. That’s mean,”

“You’re the one who wanted to interrupt their practice so you could gossip,” Iwaizumi pointed out. 

Akaashi made sure his self-appointed opponents were more or less in position before hitting a light serve to Iwaizumi, currently on the service line. Iwaizumi returned it directly back to Akaashi, who hit to Oikawa. Then to Akaashi. To Oikawa. To Suga. To Iwaizumi. To Akaashi. And so on.

Oikawa, despite his many and deep flaws, was a fantastic tennis player. And it showed in his doubles partnership with Hajime Iwaizumi. On his own, Oikawa’s serve was the strongest out of anyone on the team, and he was the only person Akaashi knew who could actually back up the amount of shit-talking he did. But he wasn’t the core of the team. Anyone who really paid attention knew that Oikawa, though fantastic on his own, was truly great when he allowed himself to rely on Iwaizumi. 

And it was just as well, since Iwaizumi was the only person Akaashi had ever seen Oikawa rely on. 

Oikawa hit a serve. “Okey dokey,” he said after Suga returned it. “Since you all are being so quiet, I’ll share my thoughts on the first-years. I like Kunimi,”

So that was the name of the tired-looking one with the middle part. Kunimi. Fun that the other one was Kageyama. Nice alliteration. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Suga replied teasingly. “More like you don’t have a visceral and combative reaction to Kunimi,”

He shrugged (a tough thing to manage while hitting a backhand). “Same thing, right? Anyway, I think we can make him a good player by his second year. He seems like he has good–”

Akaashi interrupted him. “So what’s your deal with Kageyama, anyway?”

“I don’t like his attitude,” 

“You’re one to talk,” Iwaizumi said, then looked up to grant him and Suga the explanation. “He went to the same middle school as us. Really looked up to Oikawa and asked him if he would teach him how to serve. Then Oikawa almost hit him in his little twelve-year old face,”

Suga gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

Iwaizumi nodded. “He did,”

Oikawa looked embarrassed. “It was just the one time. And I felt kinda bad about it. But then, last year I went to some middle school matches and I saw him play and he was so good,”

“Are you jealous?” Akaashi asked. He couldn’t believe his ears. Oikawa was jealous of some scrawny first-year. “You realize he probably only washes his hair once a week, right?”

Suga marked the last ball as out. “I can’t believe we’re reassuring you that a first-year who hasn’t learned how to smile yet isn’t better than you. Your Iwa-chan loves you and the rest of us do too, Oikawa, but you’re really pathetic,”

“God, tell me about it,” Iwaizumi said.

Oikawa took a ball out his pocket and served it. “Let’s talk about your problems, Mr. Refreshing. You still won’t ask Kiyoko out?”

Suga laughed. “I think Tanaka would beat my ass,”

“He’s too nice for that,” Akaashi added. “Noya definitely would, though,”

“Well, I think I’d have to stop both of them from marring your perfect ass, if we’re talking literally,” Oikawa said with a wink. 

“You’re just jealous you don’t have one,” Iwaizumi said from behind him.

Oikawa turned red. “Shut up, Iwa-chan. And why are you looking at my ass, anyway?”

“I stand behind you for half a set every time we play, Crappykawa. You’d think I’d notice what isn’t there by now,”

“I’m wearing baggy shorts today, If you saw my ass in spandex you’d have no doubt of its fine existence,”

“You’re flat, Assikawa,”

“You’re mean, Iwa-chan,”

“Trouble in paradise?” Suga asked, shit-eating grin on his face.

Oikawa turned to him, face still red from bringing up his ass originally. “I’m not done with you. Have you not asked Kiyoko out yet because you’re afraid she’s a lesbian, or is it because you have someone else?”

“Well,” Suga said shyly, drawing out the syllable. “I wouldn’t say I’ve thought much about lesbianism in the past couple of weeks…”

Oikawa missed what should have been an easy volley, forcing Iwaizumi to chase after it behind him. “Oh my god. Sugar Mama has a sugar baby!”

“Shut the fuck up, Oikawa. Has the filter between your brain and your mouth dissolved?” Iwaizumi asked. 

Akaashi snickered. “It can’t dissolve if he never had one.”

Oikawa continued to badger Suga about his love life for the next fifteen minutes. As was expected. Suga was a bit of a master at carrying on a personal conversation while never actually talking about himself. It was a talent he used on and off the court, getting close to the right people, assessing his opponents weaknesses without telling them his own. Akaashi was pretty sure Suga could take over the world if he tried for it.

Concerning Suga’s love life, Akaashi only knew two things: that he liked girls and that he liked boys. The way he was carrying on with Oikawa, though, Akaashi could assume he was at least talking to someone. But he could never be absolutely sure. Maybe it was just a ploy to get Oikawa off his ass about his love life. As a tactic, it wasn’t an altogether bad one…

“Kei-chaaaaan,” Oikawa said, sidling up to Akaashi without any regard for the last ball hit to him.

Akaashi started sweating, knowing what was coming next. “Don’t we have to finish our game?” He asked.

Oikawa shrugged. “You guys won,”

Suga celebrated and Iwaizumi looked somewhat betrayed.

“Kei-chan, I’ve noticed an unfortunate lack of girls in your life. I was talking to Chizuru Sasaki, in my calculus class, and I’m afraid she might confess within the week. Would you mind if I deferred her to you?”

There it was. Oikawa had another girl lined up for him. See, in order to keep Oikawa’s perfect image up, he had to remain somewhat unattainable. According to Oikawa, it was a principle similar to why K-Pop idols aren’t allowed to date. 

Akaashi had asked Oikawa why he knew so much about the dating habits of K-Pop idols, and what that had to do with his ever-rotating cycle of two-month girlfriends.

He walked quickly toward the bleachers, trying to escape from Oikawa’s somewhat well-meaning suggestions. “I don’t need one of your groupies. Besides, I have to beat Fukurodani this year–”

Oikawa slapped Akaashi on the shoulder in a way that could have been friendly if he’d aimed a bit more to the outside. “You can say his name, you know. It’s Bokuto,”

“Koutarou Bokuto,” Suga corrected. He was sitting on the bleachers, zipping his racquet back into his bag. Akaashi slipped him the 500 yen. Suga took it with a grin.

Oikawa started, annoyed. “And how the hell did you know that?” Then he appeared to come to a realization, the apparent fear of it dawning on his face. “Don’t tell me your mystery sugar baby is Kei-chan’s greatest enemy?”

Suga dumped the rest of his water bottle down the back of Oikawa’s shirt. 

Oikawa screeched and said something about how that wasn’t a definitive answer, to which Suga defended himself in a vague sort of way. Akaashi tuned them out.

He was good at tuning them out.

Koutarou Bokuto. Akaashi wanted, more than anything, to beat Koutarou Bokuto on the court.

He thought about the Kanto Tournament the year before.

Akaashi was sure he could win. The second-year representing Fukurodani looked athletic and all, but he had used a lot of energy during their brief warmup, and he’d been bouncing around in the stands all morning and afternoon. 

He should have realized it was an indication of limitless stamina rather than nerves, like he’d assumed. 

Akaashi had thought that Bokuto would grow tired after their fourth game. And when he didn’t show any sign of fatigue, Akaashi thought, well, maybe after their eighth. And after their twelfth, Akaashi thought he had noticed a chink in Bokuto’s armor. 

He thought he’d seen a sliver of doubt, there, when Akaashi had volleyed a ball past him to win the twelfth game. Something had distracted Bokuto then. In the space of half a second, Bokuto had changed from staring so intently at the ball Akaashi thought he might kill it to eyes round and unfocused, grip on his racquet dropping marginally. 

Akaashi chased that split-second shift for the rest of the match.

It didn’t happen again. But Akaashi kept playing that moment over and over in his mind, knowing when Bukuto’s focus split but not knowing how or why, and when Bokuto stood at the other side of the net, holding his hand out for a handshake, Akaashi didn’t even notice. He was turned the other way, face pointed up to the sky and eyes closed.

Akaashi had lost. He’d pinpointed his opponent’s weakness but hadn’t been able to decipher how to exploit it, and that rubbed under his skin more than any other previous defeat.

And he’d been so distracted by his failure that he hadn’t noticed his good-natured opponent’s gesture. Akaashi apologized profusely afterward, of course, when he saw Bokuto in the stands as they were watching the doubles championship. It wasn’t enough. Bokuto deserved to win as a champion rather than against someone who hadn’t been able to perform at his best. 

Akaashi hated it when he didn’t perform at this best.

And so he didn’t know whether he was proving it to himself or to Bokuto that he could beat Koutarou Bokuto, but it didn’t bother him all that much. Either way, when he won both motivations would be satisfied.

Suga’s voice and hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his part-self-psychoanalysis and part-flashback. “Hey, Akaashi, remember the shoulders on that Bokuto guy?”

Akaashi nodded. The other thing about that match he could quite forget: Bokuto had the arms of a god.

Oikawa gasped at Suga. “Don’t tell me you’re secretly dating Bokuto?”

“Why, jealous?”

The brunet sputtered, Iwaizumi also, for some reason, turning his face away. “No! I have a girlfriend, you know,”

Suga and Akaashi exchanged a look. Oikawa always had a girlfriend who was very nice and very pretty. How he managed to never be single was of the great mysteries of life, Akaashi supposed.

“Just saying,” Suga continued, the put-upon look he had shared with Akaashi turning into something much more sinister: a scheming look. “He looked like he gives nice hugs.”

Akaashi cracked his knuckles, twice per finger, once per thumb. “If you’re into things like that, maybe.”

At practice the next day, Kageyama lost. Not terribly though, but not terribly was about as much as he could hope for. After all, he played alone against one of the top five doubles teams in the country. 

The day after that, Kageyama seemed to be a little more accepting to the idea of teamwork in an individual sport.

\---

Kanto Tournament - in Haikyuu canon, volleyball teams have to do so well in the prefectural qualifiers in order to get to nationals. Japan does have a national tournament for tennis, but there can only be one team from each prefecture who goes. In this AU, Aobajohsai and Fukurodani are in the same prefecture, so I needed a tournament that would prove that both schools are tennis powerhouses in an area larger than a prefecture but not so large as the country. So, I created a regional tournament that would draw from all six prefectures in the Kanto region. If anyone knows about a real Japanese high school tennis tournament like this, please let me know in the comments so I can use it!

Racquet bag - tennis players carry lots of stuff in their racquet bags. Most serious high school players have two racquets and will also carry balls and grip tape, but other contents will vary based on the player. It’s like a tennis backpack.

Tennis cans - tennis balls come in a can with two lids: a resealable lid and a lid like a soda can. This is in order to preserve the right amount of bounce as the air in tennis balls leaks over time. Because of this, it’s important for players to use new balls in more serious matches as it can affect the game, but it would be a waste to open a bunch of new cans every practice because each can only contains three balls.

Singles vs Doubles - singles is one player against one player and use the narrower boundary lines on the court, where doubles is two players against two players and uses the wider boundary lines. Other than that, the rules are the same.

Number of Players on a Team - on a high school varsity-level tennis team, there are generally six players: two singles teams and two doubles teams, and two or three alternates. Usually, the top two players play singles and 3-6 play doubles, but it varies depending on who is compatible as a doubles team. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe do not worry the other guys will be along in the next chapter. This is a very self-indulgent fic, as I both play tennis and grew up watching tennis like most Americans watch football or baseball and Canadians watch hockey. In other words, I'm having a lot of fun writing and planning this out.
> 
> Please let me know how I did in the comments below (if there's anything you think I should fix, if you have suggestions, if you want me to justify why your fave did whatever, if you want to argue with me about how your fave is out-of-character, if you want to be very nice, really whatever)! I love comments and I will respond to all of them even if they are dumb.
> 
> I'll have the next chapter up within a week!! If not, bother me.


	2. Fukurodani

\---

Fukurodani

Fukurodani is located in the inner suburbs of Tokyo and has one of the best tennis teams in the country, both currently and historically. Their school currently holds the record for most titles at the Kanto Tournament.   
Fukurodani is known for their strong players and aggressive, yet intelligent playing style. It’s said you can judge a Fukurodani player by their serving style and propensity for volleys. In contrast to Aobajohsai, their players have impeccable on-the-court attitude but their behavior in the bleachers tends to be somewhat unruly. 

Coach: Yasufumi Nekomata  
Third-Years: Koutarou Bokuto, Tetsurou Kuroo, Daichi Sawamura, Morisuke Yaku  
Second-Years: Asahi Azumane, Kenma Kozume   
First-Years: Lev Haiba, Shouyou Hinata, Kei Tsukishima, Tadashi Yamaguchi

\---

_Bounce._

_Thwack._

Akaashi heard the tennis balls echoing off Fukurodani’s courts and the player’s racquets before he even reached the bleachers.

It was just supposed to be Oikawa, at first, or at least that’s what Oikawa probably thought. See, Oikawa had made the mistake of texting Iwaizumi before he’d left to sit in on Fukurodani’s practice match this weekend, and Iwaizumi had texted Akaashi, and Akaashi had texted Suga, and Suga had texted Tanaka’s older sister to see if she could drive the three of them. But Saeko had let something slip to her brother, who had talked to Nishinoya and Ennoshita, and Suga thought, well, let’s just invite the first-years along as well so they don’t feel left out.

So what started as a solo operation turned to a group infiltration rather quickly. It was decided, however, to sneak in and spread out so as not to draw attention to themselves. 

If Nekomata spotted Aobajohsai in the stands, Takeda would feel morally obligated to schedule an official practice match against Fukurodani. The team didn’t want that, yet. They’d face Fukurodani later in the season, when both teams were closer to the level they’d be at during the Kanto Tournament.

Akaashi, entering first with Iwaizumi, spotted Oikawa easily. He was in the very upper left seat, leaning against the metal rail and watching intently. 

At least, Akaashi thought it was the left. His brains, eyes, and other internal organs were a bit scrambled due to Saeko’s driving. 

They slid into place behind Oikawa, only tripping on half the benches. He fixed them with a glare behind his slightly-smudged glasses, then turned back to the players. It was hard to understand what the glare meant. Maybe their stumbling had irritated Oikawa’s eardrums. But more likely, he was annoyed that they had found him.

“They’re only warming up,” Iwaizumi’s gruff voice informed them both.

They ignored him.

Fukurodani’s warmup was bare-bones. Players in gold and white uniforms finished up running laps, giving the impression of a swarm of moths descending on the old coach who stood in the middle of the court with a basket of balls. Then they lined up to hit a few baseline shots, a few volleys, and that was it. The players paired up to hit serves individually, killing time until their opponent finished.

Shiratorizawa, in contrast, exhausted its warmup time by forcing its players to review every possible type of shot as a team. Akaashi started to make a snide remark about it, but a metallic crash at the other end of the bleachers diverted his attention. Tanaka had crashed into the railing, prompting Ennoshita to help him back up and Noya to take a picture.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Heelys or pretty girl?”

Akaashi laughed. “Maybe both. He was probably trying to show off his–”

Oikawa fell backwards off his bench and into them to an annoyed grunt and something that sounded like ‘Clumsykawa’ from Iwaizumi and muttered curses from Akaashi.

“It’s Ushiwaka,” Oikawa hissed. “He’s come for me.”

Akaashi followed the gaze Oikawa was desperately trying to avoid into the eyes of a tall, very solid looking brunet. The brunet cocked his head, squinting, probably trying to determine if his eye contact had caused the bespectacled pretty-boy up in the stands to fall over or if it was just a strong breeze. He balanced a pyramid of balls on the racquet in his grasp. A lanky redheaded player called for him, and Ushijima Wakatoshi (Ushiwaka was another of Oikawa’s nicknames) turned and dumped a racquetful of balls into the hopper. 

There was a story, there, for sure. But beyond knowing that Wakatoshi was his greatest competition besides Bokuto, Akaashi wasn’t overly concerned with him. Last year, they had been set up on opposite sides of the bracket and hadn’t had to play each other. There was no reason for Akaashi to believe that wouldn’t happen again.

Akaashi got up to sit alone in the center of the bleachers. Both teams had gathered near their respective coaches for assignments. Bokuto would likely play on court one, which was the closest to the bleachers. 

Sure enough, Akaashi watched as Bokuto attempted to strike up conversation with Wakatoshi as they walked to the courtside bench to set down their waters. Wakatoshi, apparently, wasn’t much for talking, but that didn’t seem to bother Bokuto. 

The rest of the players filed onto courts two, three, and four. They must be playing singles first, then doubles. It was just a practice match, after all, so it made sense for every player to play at least two matches.

He blinked, and Bokuto had donned a black headband. Or maybe it had been there all along. It was hard to tell with Bokuto’s interestingly dyed two-toned hair. He also wore two sweatbands on his left hand (one black, one gold) and black compression shorts that nearly reached his knees.

Akaashi wondered if it was function, superstition, or tanlines that called for such a specific set of accessories. 

Bokuto and Wakatoshi hit a short rally and then started play.

The way Bokuto played couldn’t be described as beautiful, rather it was sporadic but precise. He won the first few points easily, hitting his powerful serve then volleying Wakatoshi’s return to the opposite side of the court. 

But Akaashi knew that couldn’t last long; Wakatoshi wasn’t exactly a strategist, but he was nowhere close to dense. Bokuto would get shut down soon. On the court, Bokuto hit the ball past Wakatoshi to win the first game.

As the two players switched sides of the court, Bokuto exchanged an array of facial expressions and hand signals with the player on court two, a boy with the most impressive jet-black bedhead Akaashi had ever seen. They were wearing matching sweatbands. Akaashi recognized him as Tetsurou Kuroo, a third-year.

Wakatoshi served an ace. Bokuto’s bouncing became more concentrated, less wild. As he waited for Wakatoshi’s next serve, Akaashi saw the way Bokuto swayed back and forth, energy pulsing from soles of his feet to the tips on his hair.

That energy, that drive, that intense focus was something Akaashi could never replicate, had admired most last year. Bokuto put more effort and hope into a single shot than Akaashi managed to use in an entire match. It was his great strength, but also his great weakness.

Wakatoshi won the second game.

Bokuto was already sweating, the muscles of his back visible through the white uniform. As he threw the ball to the sky to serve, the fabric grew taught, stretching further when Bokuto’s racquet made contact with the ball then springing back to normal after the ball hit the Wakatoshi’s side of the court. 

Unsuccessful whispering announced Suga’s presence. He walked up to the bleachers, and scanned them, making eye contact with him in the center, Oikawa on the left, and Noya on the right. He muttered to the two first-years in his care and they obediently followed him to the lower middle.

Akaashi was impressed. It couldn’t have been easy to wrangle Kageyama and Kunimi in the car with Saeko, but Suga looked as relaxed as ever. Kageyama, though, had probably started a blood feud with Saeko to add to the ones he already apparently held with Kunimi and Oikawa (and by extension, Iwaizumi, though Iwaizumi would probably never admit it upfront). 

Suga pointed several players out to his kouhais, probably telling all their strengths and weaknesses as well as which ones they were most likely to play against.

On court one, Bokuto battled with Wakatoshi for the third game. It stretched into deuce, wavering between advantages until finally Wakatoshi overpowered him, hitting two well-placed drop shots in a row.

The fourth game ended in a similar manner. The score was 1-3. Bokuto was losing.

In his left ear, a voice assured him, “Don’t worry, he’ll pull it off.” 

Akaashi jumped, turning quickly, nearly bumping noses with Testurou Kuroo.

“I, uh, wasn’t worried,” Akaashi said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “I don’t have a preference for who wins,”

He didn’t at all like the smug all-knowing smirk that stretched across Kuroo’s face at that. The third-year shrugged, then dropped down to sit next to Akaashi. “And I don’t really, either. I’m just so invested in it I didn’t even realize the match on court two had ended,”

Akaashi shifted uncomfortably. “I’m really just here to watch both of them,”

Kuroo shrugged. “Whatever.” He went to turn back to watching the courts, then started and turned back. “Wait, you’re Keiji Akaashi, aren’t you?”

He nodded, but Kuroo didn’t wait for an answer.

“So you definitely are here for Bo. God, if he knew you were such an obsessive stalker…”

Akaashi felt his face heat, despite the fact that this was the only one of Bokuto’s matches he’d been to. But some obstinacy inside him rose up. “What would he do?”

“Pardon?”

“What would Bokuto do if he knew I was such an obsessive stalker?”

Kuroo looked at him blankly for a few seconds, then blinked once. “Probably stalk you back, I don’t know.”

“Hm.”

They turned back to watch the games. On court two, the one Kuroo had recently vacated, a tall silver-haired foreign-looking kid was warming up with the Shiratorizawa redhead from earlier. Good luck, Akaashi thought. The foreign-looking kid kept stumbling over his feet and the redhead could barely contain his laughter.

The foreign-looking kid kept looking over at his teammate on court three, a shortish guy with light brown hair. Light brown hair was well-engaged in his own match, a slow-moving game that had gone to deuce every point so far, if the score was anything to judge by. 

Court four had a blondie with glasses defending well against a kid with a truly unfortunate jet-black haircut. 

“That’s Lev, Yaku, and my personal favorite, Tsukishima,” Kuroo pointed out.

“Personal favorite?”

“Oh, yeah, Tsuki’s a real piece of work. I’m looking forward to turning him into an even bigger jackass,”

Akaashi nodded like that was the most natural thing in the world to want for your teammate.

Kuroo looked like he was about to say something more, then jumped up. “Oh, shit.” he said, hurtling over the bleacher benches in front of him toward the court.

Play had halted on the courts. Akaashi first noticed that Bokuto had taken a game back, turning the score to 2-3. But on court three, the short guy, Yaku, laid splayed out on the far back corner. He struggled to get to his feet. As soon as he tried to put any weight on his leg, he winced and fell back down. 

Kuroo and a short student who Akaashi assumed was Fukurodani’s manager rushed toward him, their coach and the trainer following close behind. They helped him off the court while Yaku seemed to be insisting that he was fine. 

Hopefully his match would be considered a draw. He hadn’t been in the lead, and it would really be unfortunate for the only game of his season to be a loss.

As soon as the trainer provided Yaku with some ice and wrapped his ankle, Kuroo was carrying him up into the bleachers, the short manager right behind.

“Akaashi, meet Yaku. Yaku, this is Akaashi,” he said, placing Yaku on Akaashi’s right. Kuroo took the place on the left he’d just vacated, and the manager sat on the bleacher right in front of Kuroo, leaning on his legs.

Akaashi nodded. “Nice to meet you, Yaku. And you are?” he asked, turning to the short manager, who was playing some game on his phone.

“That’s Kenma, AKA the love of my life,” Kuroo said, ruffling a hand through Kenma’s dyed hair. It was hard to tell if it was affectionate or teasing, and it was harder to tell if the whole ‘love of his life’ thing was sarcastic or not. Akaashi decided to just let it lie.

“Do you think Lev will be okay?” Yaku asked.

“Holy shit, dude, worry about yourself. I know we called you the Demon Senpai but I think Mom might be more accurate,”

“He’s fine,” Kenma said. He had exactly the kind of voice Akaashi would have expected, monotone and a little bored. But it seemed to reassure Yaku, who was now watching the courts anxiously.

All players had resumed play, and a new pair of players had been sent to court three, a green-haired freckly boy from Fukurodani and a dark-skinned boy from Shiratorizawa. The freckly boy – Yamaguchi, Kuroo provided - seemed especially nervous and fidgety. 

Bokuto won another point, tying his score against Wakatoshi 3-3.

Akaashi’s eyebrows knit together. “Wait, Kuroo,” he said. “How come you won your match so quickly?”

Kuroo laughed. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he said, at the same time as Kenma said, “Kawanishi’s not that smart and gets angry easily,”

The provocation expert. That’s what Akaashi had heard about him. Kuroo was notorious for saying just the right things in between points to make his opponents lose their cool. It was an admirable talent, sure, but Kuroo had no doubt run into trouble for it. 

Court four opened up. 

Kuroo leaned forward, disturbing Kenma. “Looks like Tsuki won. Huh. Catch you guys later.”

With a wave, he was off towards the courtside. He greeted Tsukishima with a hug, but the blonde ducked out of it annoyed. They lingered for a few minutes, listening to something the coach said, before going back out onto the court as doubles partners.

So that was what Kuroo had meant by turning Tsukishima into an even bigger jackass; he really did mentor him. And if the kid’s attitude was already aloof as a first-year, Akaashi could only imagine how

“It’s natural,” Kenma said. He was no longer playing with his phone. 

“What is?”

“Bokuto’s hair,” he said, nodding to the player.

Bokuto was winning, now, 5-3. Akaashi hadn’t really been wondering about his hair, but now his interest was piqued.

“Really?” he asked.

Kenma shrugged. “Some sort of genetic thing. He’ll probably be completely grey by the time he’s twenty-five,” He pulled his phone up again, pressing the power button. It was dead. “Do you have a charger?”

“Sorry,” Akaashi said. “Someone else might have one, though. I can ask my other teammates,”

“No problem,”

“You’re not here alone?” Yaku asked. 

Shit. He hadn’t been supposed to mention the team. “Uh, just me and Suga and the first-years,” he said, pointing out Suga. He was talking to a brunet in Fukurodani white and gold so he was probably the safest choice.

“Oh,” Yaku said, a knowing sparkle in his eyes. “If that’s the case, I guess Kenma will just have to make do. Wouldn’t want to interrupt any of Daichi’s precious conversation.”

Akaashi had no idea what that meant. He elected to ignore it.

Bokuto’s energy on the court matched his at the beginning. He was confident, strong, enthusiastic. He bounced as he waited to receive Wakatoshi’s serve, his calves contracting and expanding. As he jumped for the receive, the movement blew his hair away from the headband. Now that Akaashi was looking for it, he could tell that Bokuto’s grey hair moved like natural hair. It didn’t have the frizziness or static of the bleached hair he’d seen on other students, though he supposed that Kenma’s hair didn’t look at all dry or unmoisturized.

But Bokuto’s hair was thick. It was styled up and away from his face, sure, but Akaashi could tell by the way it moved and the way the sunlight hit it that it would be soft to the touch. It would be easy to run his hands through, to watch the grey and black strands mix in his hands.

He blinked, hard. Had he eaten breakfast this morning?

Wakatoshi’s strength was waning, now. Bokuto only had to win one more game to claim the set, and it was his serve. Akaashi shifted forward on the bench. Wakatoshi was a formidable receiver, but Bokuto knew how to use a receiver like a backboard. He could place the serve just so, so that Wakatoshi had no choice but to return it directly to Bokuto. Then Bokuto had all the time he needed to comfortably power the ball to the opposite side of the court, far out of Wakatoshi's reach. 

But more powerful than that was Bokuto’s drop shot. It was like a baseball pitcher throwing a good changeup; the opponent would always react too slowly. The ball would drop just on the other side of the net. Then, the opponent would have to make a choice: dive for it or leave it. Either way, they would likely lose the point, since diving for a ball left an opponent hopelessly disoriented as they tried to defend against Bokuto’s next shot.

These two weapons were fine-tuned when Akaashi had played Bokuto last year, and he had no doubt they had only improved. 

Bokuto made quick work of Wakatoshi and erupted in a cheer. Grin wide on his face, he bounced up to the net to shake Wakatoshi’s hand. Wakatoshi accepted it expressionlessly. Bokuto looked up into the bleachers, eagerly finding the faces of Kenma and Yaku. And Akaashi. The split second of eye contact between them felt like days, Bokuto’s quizzical glance boring in Akaashi. It was like an owl spotting a mouse in the snow.

“Excuse me,” Akaashi said, standing up. “Where’s your restroom?”

“There’s one on the other side of the equipment shed,” Kenma offered, nodding to a squat building across the parking lot to the far left.

He thanked him, then dropped down to Suga and the first-years to mention that he wanted to leave, but also that he had to use the restroom first. Unfortunately, he interrupted Suga’s conversation with the Fukurodani brunet. Oh, well. Akaashi hurried away from the bleachers, focusing solely on the equipment shed and absolutely not on the courts beside him.

Twenty minutes later, he was riding shotgun in Suga’s car. He always forgot that Suga could drive now and was the oldest on the team. 

“Why did you even text Saeko if you could’ve just driven us?” Akaashi asked.

Suga laughed. “Today felt like a good day for team bonding,”

“Yeah, team bonding over motion sickness,” 

Suga swerved wildly in response. “Sorry, squirrel.”

In fact, as Akaashi was rapidly discovering, Suga’s driving wasn’t much better than Saeko’s, and his music taste was much worse. Saeko at least had taste. Suga was playing the top 50 global hits at a volume slightly too loud to be comfortable, but too quiet for Akaashi to politely ask if he could turn it down. 

Kunimi and Kageyama had no problem with it, apparently, as they had passed out on opposite sides of the back seat.

“Aren’t they adorable?” Suga said, following Akaashi’s gaze in the rear-view mirror.

“Sure,”

“Like my own two children,” he sighed. “They’re not allowed to date. That would be incest, and I understand that this may be a controversial opinion in some circles, but incest is generally in poor taste,”

“Uh huh,” Akaashi said, looking out the window. He needed to digest all the stuff he’d learned today. 

Bokuto was just as powerful as he’d been at the tournament last year, if not more so. And he was in perfect condition to grow. The members of Fukurodani were Bokuto, Kuroo, Yaku (injured), Kenma, and a few others Akaashi couldn’t remember. There was the foreign kid, the blond – Tsukishima, he remembered, the green-haired freckly one, the short ginger, the manbun guy, and the normal-looking brunet.

“What was the name of the guy you were talking to?”

“Who, Daichi?”

“Thanks,” Akaashi said, but Suga continued.

“He’s a pretty nice guy, I think. Can’t say the same for the rest of the team. I mean, they seem to be good people, but not nice ones, if you know what I mean. I’d be careful if I were you,” he said, the car veering slightly left.

“Watch the road,” Akaashi reminded him. Suga rolled his eyes but corrected the path. “But what do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know, what do I mean by that?” Suga said, grin too gentle to be scheming back on his face. “I saw Kuroo talking to you, and he brought over more people. If he knows your name well enough, he’ll start poking at you. It’s innocent enough, but it sure is exciting,”

“Okay.” Akaashi said. He stayed quiet for the rest of the trip, letting Suga talk over his terrible music about whatever. 

When they were a minute away from his home, Akaashi’s phone rang. He checked the ID. It wasn’t in his contacts list. 

He declined it.

\--

Deuce: In a point, sometimes the score gets tied at 40-40. This is called a deuce. In order to win a deuce, a player must win by two. This is called advantage scoring, or ads for short. If the server is winning by one point, this is ad-in. If the receiver is winning by one point, this is ad-out. If the score gets to ad-in and then the receiver wins a point, it goes back to deuce, meaning that the receiver would have to win two more points in a row in order to win the game. So this can last awhile…

Number of Sets in a Match: Most official secondary school rules are best 2 out of 3 sets, or three sets of six games, first to six wins. However, because these are practice matches, players are only playing one set.

Why Must Saeko Drive: Japan’s driving license age requirement is 18, not 15 as it is where I live lol. So the Aobajohsai crew has to have options, and there are only so many older siblings. Also I love Saeko with all my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments!! i love comments!! it was by your power that I wrote this chapter in like two days. but, to determine if this is truly causation rather than correlation, it's necessary to conduct another trial. you'll be contributing to scientific study.


	3. Keiji Akaashi

Player Profile: Keiji Akaashi  
School: Aobajohsai  
Keiji Akaashi is somewhat of a rising star in high school tennis. In his first year, he earned second place at the Kanto regional tournament, losing to Koutarou Bokuto. He typically adopts a defensive play style, using his opponents’ strengths against them. Some say that playing against him is like trying to win against a wall; the stronger you hit, the stronger the return.   
His serve ritual is bouncing the ball on the ground with his racquet twice.   
Power: 3/5  
Stamina: 5/5  
Game Sense: 4/5  
Speed: 4/5  
Technique: 5/5  
Notes: Exclusively wears white crew cut socks during matches.

\---

Daichi parked in the very back of the parking lot.

Bokuto looked out the window at the few other cars in the lot, all clustered near the other end. “Isn’t this more suspicious?” He asked.

“Absolutely not. Trust me, I am a master of espionage,” Kuroo said from the backseat, already opening the door.

Daichi sighed. “Don’t get out when I haven’t put it in park yet,”

“I’m a rebel to society,”

“You’ve never gotten below an 85 on an exam,” Kenma said without looking up from his video game (or at least, Bokuto assumed he hadn’t, since Kenma was sitting directly behind him).

Kuroo scoffed. “And? Rebels get good grades.”

Daichi turned off the car and Bokuto hopped out to join Kuroo. Daichi and Kenma followed them slightly later, Daichi due to reluctance and Kenma due to his PSP. 

“Are you sure they’re playing today, Kuroo?” Bokuto asked.

“My dude,” Kuroo said, putting his arm around Bokuto’s shoulders. “Would I ever lie to you?”

“Absolutely not,” Bokuto said without hesitation. “Should we go in separately or all together?”

Kenma gave them a funny look. “Why the hell would we do that? We all end up sitting together anyway,”

“You’re so right, Kenma,” Bokuto said. Kenma was almost always right.

The group of Fukurodani third years (minus Yaku because he’s out for the season and plus Kenma because he’s an honorary third year) scurried across the parking lot like pigeons; not really as a group and only with a semblance of direction.

There were a few people in the stands, but Bokuto didn’t recognize any of them. They looked to mostly be the parents of Aobajohsai players. This wasn’t surprising. It was a weekday match, after all, and only a dual one at that. 

The Fukurodani players only knew about it because Daichi had gotten ahold of the tentative schedule from his boss who was an alumnus and discovered that Aobajohsai was playing against Shiratorizawa that Wednesday. He’d suggested that Bokuto and Kuroo (and by extension Kenma) come so they could watch Aobajohsai play against opponents fresh in their memory. It would be an opportunity to get a good sense of Aobajohsai’s game, which was an unusually calculating suggestion from Daichi.

No matter. Daichi could drive, and they were all more or less free.

They sat down in the top center part of the stands so they could get a clear view of all the courts. Aobajohsai had the same number of courts as Fukurodani, but they were slightly more spread out.

The players were just sort of milling around, so it was difficult to tell who was who.

Of course, Ushijima was easy to point out. He took up the space of two normal sized players, and Bokuto wondered for not the first time why he’d chosen to waste all that muscle on tennis instead of a contact sport.

Akaashi would be harder to spot. He was thin, about average height, hair a natural color. He blended into a crowd easily. That’s probably why Bokuto hadn’t even heard of him before they squared off at the Kanto regional tournament. The first year had surprised him, weathering all of his attacks. Bokuto remembered himself as a little anxious throughout the duration of the match, wondering when Akaashi would finally choose to show his real power. 

It hadn’t happened. 

Bokuto had ended the match celebratorily, of course, he’d won a major tournament after all, but somewhat disappointed. He’d felt like Akaashi could have done better, especially by the way Akaashi had handled himself after the match. Bokuto had been stiffed by Akaashi, no handshake, no thank you. Just cold distractedness.

“There he is,” Kuroo pointed, shaking Bokuto out of his reminiscing, “There’s the prettiest tennis player you’ve ever seen,”

Bokuto felt his face heat. He turned to Kuroo to protest, but Kuroo had actually been talking to Daichi. But when Bokuto looked to where Kuroo was pointing, it was a group of three: Akaashi, the fair haired third-year, and the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Kuroo had probably meant her, judging by Daichi’s level of visible discomfort.

But then again… 

Bokuto took a second look at Akaashi, his black messy hair, those heavily lidded eyes, the round yet slender jaw and those thighs. Kuroo might have been pointing towards Akaashi’s friend but it really wasn’t a competition.

Prettiest tennis player Bokuto had ever seen. And he meant that in a completely sincere authentic way, not in a pretty-boy type of way. Pretty was the only word to describe it, really. That or beautiful. Akaashi was too delicate for handsome, blended too well in a crowd for striking, too cold for attractive, too dignified for cute. 

Aobajohsai was waiting for Shiratorizawa to finish their warmup. 

So Shiratorizawa hadn’t just done that as a first match of the year thing or to get on Fukurodani’s nerves, as Bokuto had partially suspected last Saturday. It was pompous, in Bokuto’s opinion, to warm up that much as a team. All the players got warmup time before each match. Ridiculous.

Akaashi would have to play against Ushijima. Bokuto really, really wanted to see that match. That’s why he’d agreed to come along with Daichi and Kuroo (and Kenma).

Okay, maybe he hadn’t agreed to come along with. Maybe he’d had a major part in convincing them to go. But it was all the same in the end.

The Aobajohsai coach had gathered all the players into a circle around him and began calling out the court assignments. “D’you see?” Bokuto said, nudging Kuroo on his right. “He’s gotta play Ushijima. You think he’ll win?”

Kuroo didn’t have to ask who ‘he’ was. “I dunno. Do you think he will?”

Bokuto scoffed. “Obviously. Akaashi and I played three sets at the Kanto Regional when he was a little first-year. I had all the advantages, but he did make me nervous,” Bokuto trailed off, then remembered something. “I’m way better than Ushijima. Akaashi will beat him, no problem. Why are you looking at me like that?”

The answer came with a little hesitation. “I think more of your hair is grey,”

Bokuto ran a hand through his hair, trying to see if it was true. “For real?” He groaned. “Maybe I’ll have to dye it all black,”

Akaashi’s graceful practice serve motion caught his eye, and he turned back to watching the courts. It wasn’t a powerful serve and barely even had any jump to it, but it cut precisely over the net and dipped down right at the end of the service box. Bokuto let out a small sigh.

The most important part of a serve is that it went in, and Akaashi hadn’t faulted once during their match.

“Don’t you have your math homework to work on, Bokuto? You said not to let you forget,” Kenma said, pushing a few buttons in quick succession.

“Oh yeah! I forgot,” Bokuto said. He thanked Kenma.

Bokuto pulled his math homework and calculator out of the bag he’d brought with him. He flipped his notebook open to the page where he’d written all the problems. It was something about derivatives and tests. He didn’t really see the point in calculating something that could just be measured, but that kind of thinking had messed with him on the last test.

He’d set his calculator to degrees instead of radians by mistake, flunking the test. Bokuto would have to do extra work this unit to make up for it.

He did one problem then looked back to Akaashi.

Bokuto had already said Akaashi was graceful, but graceful barely began to describe it. Even in practice, Akaashi looked like he was dancing, each step precise and balanced. 

With a spin of the racquet, Akaashi and Ushijima began their match.

Ushijima had the first serve. Akaashi returned it deftly and without bravado. The ball bounced back and forth rapidly, Akaashi managing to return every single one of Ushijima’s attacks. And then when Bokuto least expected it, Akaashi hit a drop shot to best Ushijima for the first point. 

Bokuto almost cheered.

“Sit down, t-ball Dad,” Kuroo said, looking at him with an amused expression on his face. “We’ve got a whole six more games at least before you can do that,”

“Fun fact,” Bokuto began, enjoying the immediate boredom that flicked over Kuroo’s face. “That’s only 23 more points at minimum, which could take only half an hour counting breaks and everything. So six games isn’t really that long,”

Kuroo shook his head. “Go do your math. It’s your worst subject, isn’t it?”

“Go do your chemistry, nerd,”

“That hurt me in a place very close to my heart,” Kuroo said. “Also I love you,” he added.

“I love you too, bro”

Daichi looked at them with awe and fear in his eyes. “There is something a little bit wrong inside your heads,”

“Okay, muscleboy,” Bokuto said. 

“Go lift some weights, chauffeur,” Kuroo added.

Bokuto high-fived Kuroo. “Nice!”

Daichi rolled his eyes and went back to watching whatever match he was here for.

Akaashi began the second set with a precise, yet average speed serve. Ushijima returned it with somewhat less vigor than would have been expected. Akaashi should be using similar techniques as Bokuto did in his match. Ushijima would not have put any dots together about them collaborating.   
At least Bokuto liked to think of it as collaborating. Akaashi was learning from him, right. And Bokuto had given the knowledge freely. That’s what it meant to teach.

That’s how they did it in school. It was exactly like a teacher doing complicated math problems on the board for students to copy.

Bokuto tore his eyes away from the match and did a few more math problems. When he looked up again they were already on the third match. It was going quickly. Bokuto liked to attribute that to his influence.

Bokuto tried to think back to how he had beaten Ushijima last weekend. He hadn’t had to whip out anything fancy, just his serve and his drop shot. He’d been serving directly to Ushijima, so that he hadn’t had much time to position himself for a good receive. Akaashi couldn’t do that as effectively as Bokuto could.

And from what Bokuto could see, Akaashi’s drop shot wasn’t as, well, droppy as Bokuto’s. 

So how was Akaaashi beating Ushijima so quickly?

Bokuto set his math homework to the side so he could concentrate more fully on the match, which had already moved to the fourth set. Ushijima was having trouble returning Akaashi’s serves. Why was that? They weren’t particularly speedy, so Ushijima could have plenty of time to move to a favorable position. 

He leaned forward. The rotation of the ball seemed normal enough, and it bounced at a normal distance. 

Then Bokuto saw it. It was in the bounce. However Akaashi was serving it, the ball seemed like it was going on one trajectory and then bounced in the opposite one. It was subtle enough that Ushijima likely hadn’t noticed it yet, especially if Akaashi was mixing this funky serve in with normal serves. 

Akaashi’s next serve was normal. Ushijima was probably on the baseline wondering if he had imagined the bounce or not. 

Bokuto slouched back against the bleachers behind him and picked up his homework again. Akaashi hadn’t used that serve during their match last year. Bokuto would not only need to find some way to identify it as the ball was cutting over the net, but also how to account for the degree of change between the ball’s expected course and the course it would actually take.

Now that was a math problem.

Bokuto wondered if he could get extra credit if he solved it.

He spent the majority of the next two sets finishing his homework. He finished the last problem, then held it up, satisfied.

Kuroo nudged him. ”Hey, the prettiest tennis player you’ve ever seen is about to win,”

Bokuto dropped the notebook into his bag. “Shit, I wasn’t paying attention,”

Kuroo laughed. “You are now.” 

Sure enough, the score on the court was 5-1. Akaashi stepped up to the baseline to serve. He called out the score. 40-15. Match point.

Akaashi lifted the ball into the air, giving what should be his final serve a high toss. Bokuto studied his expression, eyebrows narrowed with intensity. He was barely sweating, Bokuto realized, his white and turquoise uniform only clung to the small of his back and his upper chest. He hit the ball. Service ace. Akaashi smiled lightly. It looked like it was more out of obligation than joy.

He must be a strange player, if Akaashi could win so easily and barely show any happiness because of it.

Bokuto wondered what Akaashi looked like overjoyed. Did he have dimples? He wanted to be there when it happened.

“It was seven matches instead of six,” Kuroo said.

Oh yeah. “And I wasn’t keeping track of time, but I think it’s been a bit longer than half an hour. Guess my guess at the beginning was a little off,”

“Not by much, though. He’s a great tennis player to have as your archnemesis,” Kuroo said, pausing for effect. There was no effect. Bokuto couldn’t care in the slightest about any archnemesis. “You want his number?”

That, Bokuto might care about. “What for?”

Kuroo looked at him like he’d just suggested bungee jumping into a pit of rocks. “Uh, talking to him. Like about tennis. Or, you know, whatever,”

“I’d rather him give it to me than text him without him knowing it was me.” Bokuto shrugged. “That’d be weird, getting a random number like ‘hey, remember me? We played one match of tennis and stalked each other at practice matches. Wanna go out on a date?’”

Kuroo put a hand on his shoulder like a king would a knight. “You’re an honorable man, bro. Go get him,”

Bokuto nearly hurtled over the railing. Then he remembered that normal people usually use the stairs. He spotted Akaashi. He was at a bench, alone, packing his racquet into his bag.

“Hey!” He said, walking over and trying not to look too excited. “Hey, hey! Akaashi!”

Akaashi froze. Bokuto wanted to poke him, see if he’d fall over. He waited for Akaashi to make some sort of noise of acknowledgement.

It soon became clear that waiting for Akaashi to respond would mean that Bokuto would be waiting for hours, maybe days. He had to break the silence. “Congratulations on winning your match!” he said.

“Thank you,” Akkashi said. He unfroze to fiddle with his fingers.

“Oh is something wrong with your hands? Are they stiff?” When Bokuto was younger, he used to grip his racquet too hard and his palm would be sore for days. “Whenever I notice my fingers are blistering up I like to-”

“It’s just a habit.” Akaashi said firmly, dropping his hands. Then they jumped up of their own accord, and Akaashi stubbornly clamped them behind his back. “You don’t have to help me, because there’s not a problem,”

This was going badly. “Oh that’s fine. Like a nervous thing,” Bokuto said, trying to recover. “Sometimes I get nervous and I bounce on the tips of my toes.” He laughed nervously. “Hey look, I'm doing it now! So I guess we both have bad habits, huh?”

Akaashi turned back to his bag. “I guess.” He said.

“What a surprise to see you here, Bokuto!” Someone said. Bokuto turned around and saw the fair-haired third-year who had been talking with Akaashi before the match.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bokuto greeted, trying to remember his name. He’d played a match against him before. Last year, maybe? Or was it the year before… maybe both. “Koushi Sugawara! Nice to see you,”

He gave a warm smile. “Suga is fine,” he said.

“Suga, then. Do you have another match or are you done?” Bokuto asked politely.

“Not sure. I don’t think Takeda has anything lined up for me, but you never never really know,”

Bokuto laughed. “Yeah, you never really do.”

He made small talk with Suga for a few minutes. But as soon as Suga excused himself, Bokuto realized that Akaashi had snuck away.

He scanned the groups of people for messy, lightly curled black hair, lean thighs, turquoise and white uniform. But almost everyone had a turquoise and white uniform. And if Akaashi had run away, maybe he didn’t want to be found.

Disappointed, Bokuto made his way back to the stands, where Kuroo and Kenma were standing. Kuroo must have picked up on his disappointment because he didn’t question how his meeting with Akaashi had gone.

And Bokuto sure wasn’t about to volunteer anything. “Where’s Daichi?” he asked.

“Bathroom,” Kuroo said, pointing a thumb in a direction Bokuto assumed was towards the bathroom.

“This is the first time I’ve ever heard of him needing to pee. Did he eat something funny when we weren’t looking?”

“Maybe he’s pursuing a clandestine love affair under our very noses,” Kenma’s dry voice cut in.

“You’d know all about that, huh, Kenma?” Kuroo said. A faint blush appeared on Kenma’s face. “We all know about your dating sim addiction,” he practically sang.

“Shut up,” Kenma muttered, his entire face red now.

A mischievous light appeared in Kuroo’s eyes. He put on an exaggerated bored monotone. “Kuroo, you have to wake me up at 3:00am so i’ll have enough time to get on at 3:02 so I can get the right chatroom–”

Kenma slapped his arm.“Shut up. God, you’re so embarrassing. You want me to tell Bokuto about the time when you were ten and–”

“It’s not my fault! That bird was so fat–”

Bokuto stopped listening. He had to find some way to talk to Akaashi, to question him about his serve. And, a little voice whispered inside of him, to discover lots of other things about him, like how he gets his hair to look so nice, what his favorite subject in school was, if he took his shoes off without untying them first. 

There were millions of important things Bokuto needed to learn about Akaashi. All he needed was a way to start.

\---

Dual match - as opposed to tournaments, dual matches are when only two schools go head-to-head. The winner of a dual match is determined by which school’s players won the most matches. These tend to be the majority of practice matches as they are easiest to schedule.

Drop Shot - this is a shot that has a lot of backspin. It’s also known as a slice, due to the slicing motion that generates the backspin. In most shots, the tennis ball spins forward, or generates topspin. But backspin, as the name suggests, makes the tennis ball drop faster and bounce lower than the standard topspin pattern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has left comments, bookmarked, left kudos, and even read this work so far! we've just hit 100 hits, which is pretty cool. I'll have the next chapter up soon! ily


	4. Koutarou Bokuto

\---

Player Profile: Koutarou Bokuto  
School: Fukurodani  
Koutarou Bokuto is the reigning champion of Kanto region high school tennis. His first year, he didn’t make much of a show, but his second year left him practically undefeated. He typically adopts an aggressive play style, using his superior ball speed and control to overpower his opponents. His opponents say that playing him makes you feel like you’re arm wrestling a steamroller.   
His serve ritual is throwing the ball up into the air to catch on his racquet, bouncing it three times against the group, then catching it with his left hand and wiping it against the outer seam of his shorts.   
Power: 5/5  
Stamina: 5/5  
Game Sense: 4/5  
Speed: 4/5  
Technique: 4/5  
Notes: Wears a headband and two wristbands during matches, colors vary.

\--

Akaashi didn’t feel guilty at all. He wasn’t the least bit intrigued, pitying, or even slightly concerned about Koutarou Bokuto. Which falls in line with his motivation to beg Takeda-sensei for the tapes of last year’s Kanto Tournament, morbid curiosity.

Akaashi really just wanted to analyze himself and his weaknesses. It didn’t really matter who his opponent was, he argued to Takeda, it was just most likely that the Kanto Tournament would have quality footage.

And it wasn’t triumph or excitement he felt when he left school that day with his backpack a flash drive and sixty-five introductory English worksheets heavier. 

His morbid curiosity, then, was what prompted him to grade sixty-five worksheets in half an hour (pausing only to shake his head at Kageyama's worksheet, which had every word spelled backwards in the most elegant Roman characters Akaashi had ever seen). And morbid curiosity, too, is what shoved the flash drive into the USB port on his laptop and opened the hour and a half long video file.

Fine, it probably wasn’t morbid curiosity. Akaashi wanted to watch Bokuto win just as much, if not more, than he wanted to watch himself get defeated. Either way, thanks to his unnamed motivation, he dragged his finger across the trackpad and pressed play.

As he stared at the screen, a strange thing started to happen. See, the more Akaashi focused on Bokuto, the more he wanted to drag the button on the track thing back a few minutes and rewatch what he’d just seen. 

Bokuto was a puzzle.

He was a jumble of well-meaning cluelessness, striking eyes, powerful serves, weird genetic condition hair, and number one tennis trophies.

Akaashi needed to put Bokuto together if he wanted to beat him. He needed to dissect his playing style, find his weaknesses. He needed to understand his personality, find what makes him tick. Akaashi needed every little thing he could use to his advantage. 

Only once Akaashi had completely broken Bokuto apart would he be able to reconcile all the parts with each other. Then, Akaashi would have the perfect picture of his opponent and how to beat him.

Bokuto on the screen went through his serving motion. It was exactly the same as it had always been, but Akaashi watched it back in half speed. He left the rest of the match going in slow motion, though. Maybe he would discover something.

But Akaashi had never been all that good with screens, and as each second turned into two with the help of playback speed, lost time became somewhat soporific. He rubbed at his eyes. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to keep his curtains drawn and lights off, nothing but heavily filtered sunlight and the glow of his laptop to illuminate his bedroom. And a tennis match wasn’t nearly as easy to watch in real life.

Akaashi’s eyes bounced from right to left to right to left to right to left to–

He didn’t even notice his eyes were closing until he woke up. The bar at the bottom of the screen was completely filled. He’d slept through nearly three hours of tennis match, and had only woken up due to the curious silence.

Sometimes a nap is refreshing, sometimes it isn’t. This nap had somehow been neither of those two things. Akaashi woke up similarly to how a city like Amsterdam or New Orleans wakes up when all its levees suddenly break: it happened all at once, he wasn’t too happy about it, and his head felt like he was underwater. 

Akaashi had just taken the kind of nap where he wasn't sure whether he’d just passed into the afterlife or not. 

His phone vibrated against the desk he was slouched over. If this was the afterlife, maybe God was calling him to tell him whether or not he’d won the raffle and gotten into heaven.

He held the phone up to his face. “Hello?” he said.

It beeped. That was not a typical answer to ‘hello.’ Akaashi frowned and squinted at the screen.

He must not have pressed answer, because the screen was now showing that he had one missed call from an unknown number. Typical rookie mistake upon getting a phone call from God. 

But the unknown number, as Akaashi looked at it again, was the same one from Saturday. 

The phone vibrated and his screen lit up again with another call from the same number. Akaashi made sure to press answer before he held the phone up to his cheek again.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hey Akaashi! Wanna play badminton with us bros in a park in two days?” The caller (still maybe God, but probably not) said. The caller almost sounded like he didn’t believe any of the words he was saying; each of them had a tone to them that could have been sarcastic.

“Sorry,” Akaashi said. “Who is this?”

“Kuroo. Remember me? Tall, handsome, kind and considerate guy, lots of hair. Happen to play tennis on the same team as your sworn archnemesis–”

Definitely not God. “How did you get my number?”

“So you are Akaashi! Great, I was worried for a second. Anyway, Bokuto and I and the rest of the Fukurodani team are going to be at Shimotakaido park playing badminton, it’s kind of a traditional thing, you know. Do you have Saturday off of practice?”

“...yeah,” Akaashi said, then cursed himself for replying. The park in question was probably 20 minutes by car or an hour by train if it was anywhere near Fukurodani.

“You can bring a plus one if you want. The more the merrier as long as it’s not like, more than would be merrier. You’re a smart kid. You get me,”

“I barely know you,”

“Yeah that’s why you get a plus one or two,”

“How about three?” Akaashi said, a bit of a plan attempting to form. Let’s see Kuroo and Bokuto try to get a word in with Oikawa.

“Whatever. As long as you come,” Kuroo said, then mumbled something incoherent. “You know where Shimotakaido park is, right?”

“Yeah,”

“We’re playing and then having food. I’ll look forward to seeing you there,” Kuroo said, then hung up.

Akaashi stared at his phone for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what he’d just been told. He logged into his phone and opened up a new text message.

Akaashi: you’ll never guess what just happened

Sugawara: oh really. what do i get if i do

(Akaashi wasn’t very good at making up nicknames, so all the contact information in his phone was under given names).

Akaashi: you sound pretty confident

Sugawara: buy me whatever i want from the vending machine outside the locker rooms if i get it right

Akaashi: okay whatever

Sugawara: okay

Sugawara: i bet that you just got a call from an acquaintance to go meet them in a random place w no proof they won’t kidnap and kill you

Akaashi: are u psychic

Sugawara: yes

Akaashi frowned. That was a little too close for Suga to have just been guessing right. He had to have some sort of insider info.

Akaashi: wait actually how did you know

Sugawara: uh intuition

Akaashi snorted. Like that was likely. He’d find out sooner or later, anyway. No use trying to wheedle Suga’s source out of him now.

Akaashi: not buying it

Akaashi: anyway are u free saturday 

He started to explain what had just happened, then he realized he didn’t want to have to repeat himself when he asked Oikawa and Iwaizumi to attend with them.

Akaashi: wait i should text the gc

He opened up the groupchat with Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Suga, and himself. Suga had named it and had adamantly refused to let anyone change it. Akaashi tended to roll his eyes whenever he was forced to read it.

To <3 the slice girls <3:

Akaashi: are you free saturday

Oikawa responded immediately.

Oikawa: depends what is happening on saturday

Akaashi: do u know how to play badminton

Akaashi: why am i phrasing this as a question we’re playing badminton on saturday

Iwaizumi: why

Sugawara: intel. we are scouting out our enemies up close

Akaashi opened his texts with Suga back up to check if he had actually mentioned the badminton match with him, or whether he had even mentioned Fukurodani or Kuroo. He had not. This was very suspicious.

Akaashi: fukurodani invited us and it would be rude to say no

Iwaizumi. Why would we go you only want to go because bokehrafirhiangka

Akaashi: ?

Iwaizumi: Sorry Oikawa took tmuduisiendji

Typical.

Akaashi: yeah anyway so you guys are coming right

Iwaizumi: yehsjdntkglm

Saturday came, and the four of them tumbled off the train into an unfamiliar district with only google maps to lead them to their destination. Akaashi thought about calling Kuroo again, but he had an inkling that Kuroo was not very good with directions. 

“Are you sure we have to walk seven whole blocks?” Oikawa whined, trudging his feet.

“That’s what the google lady says,” Akaashi said. “And then apparently there’s a river and we have to walk along it, too, so it’s more like ten blocks,”

“You could’ve just said yes, Oikawa, my team captain and main inspiration in life, but it’s only a little bit further,”

“I’d rather take a long walk off a short pier,”

Iwaizumi made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and Suga opened his mouth to say: “That’s a rather drastic measure, isn’t it, Akaashi?”

“No. I can swim,”

This time, Iwaizumi really did laugh. He had a laugh you wouldn’t expect from him; the sort of laugh that echoes until a whole room is filled, the sort of laugh that prods at your vocal cords until you join in. Oikawa even cracked a smile, losing his offended facade for a moment before Akaashi looked at him and he put it back on. 

They trudged all approximately ten blocks until they came to a decent-sized park. According to the sign, it was Shimotakaido Park, but it just looked like play equipment.

“You sure this is the right place?” Oikawa said, looking around doubtfully.

“Look, I got a phone call while I was half asleep,” Akaashi said, scanning the people in the distance for a group of high-schoolers. “I might have hallucinated it,”

“Do you have a history of combined auditory and visual hallucinations?” Iwaizumi asked.

Both Akaashi and Suga turned to him, faces matching in bewilderedness. “No?” Akaashi answered. 

Suga’s eyes narrowed, but he kept the confused half-smile on his face. “Do you have a psychology exam coming up or something, Doctor?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi said, then his eyes widened in realization at how odd what he’d just asked sounded and backpedalled. “I’m just saying you don’t have any symptoms of schizophrenia or other hallucinatory disorders so it probably wasn’t a hallucination, is all,”

“Thanks,” Akaashi said. Iwaizumi had been trying for reassurance. It was close enough.

“Could’ve been a prank though,” Iwaizumi added. 

“How reassuring,”

“AKAASHI!” a tall guy with a serious case of bedhead yelled from across the field. As Akaashi watched him saunter casually closer, though, it became apparent that it hadn’t, in fact, been Kuroo who yelled his name, but Bokuto who was hiding behind him.

It was strange to see them out of uniform, both in casual t-shirts and shorts. Bokuto wasn’t wearing compression shorts. Akaashi knew it was odd to expect them there, but for some reason he hadn’t quite imagined that Bokuto would have actual skin under them. And Akaashi still didn’t know his full reason for wearing them, but he definitely had tanlines. His thighs were a drastically paler color than his knees and calves.

In the distance a group of confused looking high school kids were carrying a portable net and a bunch of poles. Well, a few of them were. See, they were trying to carry it, but the silver haired kid was so much taller than the ginger that the poles were at an uncomfortable angle. They would drag on the ground, and then silver hair would notice and hoist it up and nearly take orangina’s eye out.

Bokuto turned around to face them. “Bring it over here, aways,” he yelled.

Suga was already several steps closer to Kuroo and Bokuto than the rest of them somehow. Reverse magnetism, probably. “Are you sure they’ll be okay with that?” He asked.

Akaashi couldn’t help but agree. A blondie and a green-haired boy were also helping, but they appeared to be supervising more than anything.

“Of course,” Kuroo said. “It’s tradition. Bokuto and i had to set up the nets our first year too,”

“So it’s an annual thing?” Oikawa asked. Akaashi could tell he was itching to take over the net construction himself. 

“Sort of,” Kuroo answered. “We have some badminton matches every year, but it’s not in celebration of anything. Usually we just invite some people to absolutely destroy but we wanted a bit of a tussle this year. That’s where you all come in,”

Bokuto jumped in. He motioned for Akaashi and his friends to follow him to where the net was being set up. “See, not to brag or anything, but our first years are really good. Not as good as me, but they’ll be amazing in a couple years. See Lev?” He pointed to the silver-haired kid. “He’s only a first year and he’s so tall and athletic.” Then his face crumpled in doubt. “I mean he does kinda suck but he’ll be playing our number two spot because he’s so tall. Sometimes he makes opponents wet their pants when they see him,”

“That’s never happened,” Kenma said, who was sitting in a foldable camping chair near where the badminton court was going to be. Yaku sat beside him, looking like he was struggling to keep his mouth shut and glaring at the first-years intently.

“And Shrimpy will be okay next year. He’s got so much energy but has nooo technique,” He laughed. Then he frowned. “Kuroos already told you all this, hasn’t he?”

“Not me,” Oikawa said.

This was the right thing to say because Bokuto grabbed Oikawa by the shoulder and started sharing more secrets about their first years to him.

“Our captain’s going to lose matches for us, isn’t he?” Kuroo said, more to the clouds than anyone present. 

Suga looked up from where he’d been staring at the first-years’ increasingly concerning techniques of setting up a badminton court. “Well, it’s just information. and he’s sharing it with our captain so you never know what will happen.”

“They both seem to have overwhelming personalities,” Akaashi said. “In entirely different ways,”

Kuroo seemed to put some thought into that. “I wouldn’t say entirely different,”

Iwaizumi sighed. “I hope you would. There’s only one Oikawa and he’s enough for the whole world.” From anyone else, it would sound like praise. 

“Is anyone else coming?” Suga asked, turning around to scan the park. “And I thought there was food?”

“All will be revealed in time,” Kuroo said, patting Suga on the shoulder in a comforting manner. If Suga had been a lesser person, he would’ve flinched. “Also do not worry, gentle grey haired one, there is good food nearer than you would think.”

Bokuto let out a cheer. The badminton net had finally been constructed. “We’re playing doubles. Um, this is Lev, Hinata, Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, and Asahi,” He said, pointing to the silver-haired one, the ginger, the green-haired one, blondie, and manbun. “I don’t think you’ve met them, yet.”

Kuroo leaned on the back of Kenma’s chair. “Kenma,” he said in the voice you use when you’ve scored badly on an assignment and you’re trying to wheedle half-credit out of every question. “This is the sort of game where we want to meet each other. Would you do me the favor of picking teams for everyone?”

Kenma sighed and handed his phone over to Kuroo, who tucked it in his back pocket. “Akaashi and Iwaizumi, Asahi and Daichi, Suga and Oikawa, Lev and Hinata, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, and Me and Kuroo,” he rattled off disinterestedly.

“Aw, how cute,” Kuroo said, a sarcastic grin on his face. “My little kitten chose me for his team!”

Kenma pulled a face. “Don’t say kitten. It makes you sound like a 40 year old discord server admin,”

“Kenma, that was very rude,” Kuroo said, sounding only a bit hurt. 

Kenma shrugged. “You deserve it.”

“Bokuto, rules?”

“Right,” Bokuto said. He’d been looking at something on Akaashi’s head and Akaashi had just nearly built up the nerve to ask about it. “So there’s a lot of us here and it would get boring to play a full badminton game with regular tennis scoring, and only one game. Except, of course, if you win,”

He continued explaining rules.

Akaashi nudged Iwaizumi and said under his breath: “Should I tell them badminton scoring is more like volleyball?” 

“No. Why do you know that?”

“Because i paid attention in middle school gym class,”

Iwaizumi sighed. “Every day I get more and more sure you’re a psychopath.”

Bokuto finished his explanations with a grin. “And after a team loses, then they have to switch up partners with another team. Any questions?”

Hinata raised his hand. “You don’t have a partner,”

He laughed. “It’s okay, guys, I’ll play singles. 

“Okay,” Hinata frowned. “But if we’re switching partners, then one person is left alone every time. Not everyone is as good of a player as you are.” He said it completely sincerely, which came as a shock, since Akaashi had sort of assumed everyone on Fukurodani had the same dry humor as Kuroo and Kenma.

“No, we can just have Yaku stand with them,” Lev said, shooting a grin at the invalid in the camping chair.

“He literally can barely walk. That’s so mean,” Hinata said.

Yaku made a move to stand, with the help of a crutch. “I can do whatever I want.”

“Okay, so Yaku and Bokuto are a team.” Kuroo finalized.

“Akaashi,” Iwaizumi muttered. “We’ve regressed past middle school gym class. This is elementary school gym. We’re playing an icebreaker game,”

“It took us an hour to get here. I’m making someone pay for my food,” Akaashi said. 

Iwaizumi looked at him quizzically. “Did Kuroo offer to?”

“No, but I will force it out of him,” Akaashi said. And if Kuroo won’t pay for it, he’d force someone else to. “I believe in myself.”

Suga must have overheard, because he piped up: “And whichever team gets the longest winning streak has their food free - If we’re buying it from somewhere, that is,”

Bokuto and Kuroo seemed to agree. 

“Don’t worry, Suga, we’re buying only the best, affordable, gourmet food around.” Kuroo said.

That seemed to light a spark under everyone’s feet because Bokuto declared he and Yaku would start on the winner’s side facing off against Kuroo and Kenma. Akaashi and Iwaizumi made their way to the back of the line, figuring it was better to get a chance to see everyone play before they had to. The pairs all seemed to know each other well, and Akaashi certainly didn’t plan on switching his partner anytime soon.

That is, he planned on winning.

Kuroo and Kenma lost, Kuroo dramatically vowing to win against Bokuto the next round.

Hinata and Lev had grabbed a few birdies and hit them to each other several meters away. They kept trying to get Tsukishima and Yamaguchi or Daichi and Asahi to hit with them, but both teams refused. Asahi looked about ready to give in when Daichi pulled him onto the court. 

Asahi missed the first return, poor guy. Daichi said a few words of encouragement to him. They did not pull off a win, but they seemed in decent enough spirits. 

Oikawa and Suga were next. They won in a quick game, working surprisingly well at shit-talking Bokuto. It would have been even quicker if they’d shit-talking Yaku as well, but it seemed as though they wanted to avoid a guilty conscience. Unsurprisingly, they defeated Lev and Hinata just as quickly, Oikawa letting up on his distracting chattering to give the first-years more of a chance. Similarly, Suga paused to give Tsukishima and Yamaguchi tips on strategy before waving them off the court.

Iwaizumi and Akaashi were a little more immune to Oikawa and Suga’s mannerisms. That didn’t mean the latter didn’t try, though.

“I don’t think that one was fair, Iwa-chan. Let’s try again,”

“Akaashi, which novel are you writing your modern lit paper over?”

“You are both very mean to me and I don’t appreciate it,”

“Red card!”

“By the way, your socks clash with your shoes,”

Luckily, Iwaizumi and Akaashi had selective hearing when it came to the things Oikawa and Suga said. They won. After that, it was easy. Bokuto and Kuroo, Kenma and Hinata, Lev and Yaku, Asahi and Tsukishima, Daichi and Oikawa, Suga and Yamaguchi. Their toughest competitor was Bokuto and Kuroo, but despite their friendship, the two did not work well together as teammates. Bokuto kept distracting Kuroo and Kuroo kept whispering things to Bokuto that either had to be hilarious or embarrassing, because Bokuto would turn red and look at the ground. Akaashi didn’t mind. It meant that he could send the birdie Bokuto’s way and not expect a return.

Bokuto and Hinata, Asahi and Oikawa, Kenma and Lev, Yaku and Suga, Yamaguchi and Daichi. Akaashi and Iwaizumi had a twelve-point winning streak. They should have paid more attention to Tsukishima and Kuroo. Akaashi should have remembered Kuroo saying he was going to train Tsukishima up to be an asshole, but the alarm bells went off in his head way too late. 

Both parties were adept at making the right facial expressions to tick off Iwaizumi, and placing the birdie just so that Akaashi nearly ran into his teammate. 

They lost. 

Unsure of what to do, Akaashi stood awkwardly near where the other people were choosing partners. Iwaizumi stole Oikawa away from whatever partnership he was trying to strike up with Daichi. Kenma and Yaku sat out that round. Akaashi turned to Suga, but was greeted with an apologetic look. He had already teamed up with Daichi. Lev and Yamaguchi had paired up as well, which left Bokuto.

“Hey, hey! Akaashi! Looks like we’re partners, huh?”

“Yes,” Akaashi said, obligingly walking over to where Bokuto was standing.

“Do you want to go first?” Bokuto asked. “You just played them, so everything will be fresh in your head,”

Akaashi considered it, then shook his head. “No. Let’s go second to last. I want to watch them play a bit. Also, I want to hear what you have to say,”

Bokuto blinked. “What I have to say?”

Akaashi nearly rolled his eyes. “You know, their weaknesses as a partnership. They play doubles together, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I thought you were talking about– I don’t know.” Then he started talking. Akaashi fiddled with his fingers while Bokuto talked about weakness after weakness. Tsukishima didn’t like to overexert himself. Kuroo liked to try and jump for a shot instead of stepping back and hitting from a reasonable height. Kuroo liked to give advice, and Tsukishima didn’t like to follow it to his face. 

Lev and Yamaguchi lost.

“Are either of them nearsighted or likely to just trust us if we say the birdie is out?”

Bokuto frowned. “No, I don’t think so.” A thought seemed to burst into his mind, lighting his amber eyes with confusion (Akaashi hadn’t noticed Bokuto’s eye color before, but once he looked, he couldn’t seem to look away). “Wait, you mean you’re planning on playing dirty?”

Akaashi’s gaze snapped to the badminton game (Suga and Daichi seemed to be working together well), then back to Bokuto. Then he shrugged. “I’m not discounting it. If it means we win, it’s not like we can get in trouble or anything. There’s no real ref,”

“You’re a genius,” Bokuto said, awed. He pulled Akaashi in closer and they began to strategize.

It was nearly infectious, the enthusiasm Bokuto had as he pulled Akaashi onto the court, the way he bumped their racquets together like a high-five. Bokuto didn’t serve like he did in tennis matches, the careful constant routine. Instead, he recklessly slapped the birdie with the racquet, underhand. It soared high above the net. Kuroo, just as predicted, jumped to meet it and slam it into the ground just on the other side of the net.

Akaashi jumped as well, like a volleyball blocker. Kuroo smirked, adjusted his trajectory in midair, hitting to a spot he thought was empty but Akaashi knew Bokuto would appear. 

Akaashi didn’t watch. Instead, he watched the surprise in Tsukishima’s eyes as the birdie flew past his head and nestled itself in the grass. 

15 - love. Only three more points.

Tsukishima and Kuroo were difficult opponents, but they couldn’t hope to overpower Bokuto’s spirits. It seemed every point they won inflated Bokuto more, and he was only deflated when he sent the birdie hurtling into the net.

“It’s fine, Bokuto,” Akaashi said, handing the birdie to Kuroo to serve. “That was a difficult point. We’ll get the next one,”

“Right!” Bokuto said, inflating once again. 

Akaashi needed to mark this in the new book he was writing, Koutarou Bokuto’s Weaknesses: Alphabetically Organized. It would be under E.

Easily Influenced by Praise - Like many people, Koutarou Bokuto’s temperament is directly proportional to his standing in a match. The more points ahead, the better his mood. When his opponents score a point, he outwardly shows disappointment. However, the disappointment is easily counteracted by praise.   
Note: during changeovers, make small talk to minimize contact from his coach and teammates.

And then they won. Koutarou Bokuto cheered, jumping up, making as if to hug Akaashi. Then he stopped himself. “Can I?” He asked.

Akaashi took a look at his sweaty t-shirt, the grey and black hair sticking up and to his forehead, and those atrocious tanlines on his thighs. “Sure,” he said.

After all, if they wanted to win another game together, Akaashi had to make sure Bokuto was in the best of spirits. It was for the sake of the partnership.

Bokuto pressed Akaashi against his chest, his muscular arms squeezing Akaashi’s sides. It was a little damp, but it didn’t smell bad, and when Bokuto moved away Akaashi sort of wished they could have stayed like that longer.

But he didn’t have time for that, right now. They had to beat Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

If Oikawa’s trash talk had been obnoxious when Akaashi had played him the first time, it was now positively abominable. He didn’t stop running his mouth for a second, chattering on and on about missteps and terrible teamwork and untied shoelaces and weak forehands. Akaashi could barely think, and he could tell Bokuto was having trouble concentrating as well. 

All they had to do was win this one game.

Akaashi set his jaw. He touched Bokuto on the shoulder. He turned to face him. “We can do this,” Akaashi said. “I believe in us.”

They did not win that one game.

The birdie flew into the ground like it was magnetized. Both Akaashi and Bokut dove for it, but their racquets missed it by a hair. Akaashi got up and dusted himself off, then offered Bokuto a hand. 

Where most people would be slightly disappointed about a loss, Bokuto looked positively despondent. Akaashi frowned. “They played a good game. We held them off as best we could,”

Bokuto nodded. “I know.”

Interesting. An entry for S.

Sore Loser - Koutarou Bokuto isn’t a sore loser in that he disputes rules, goes back and begs that certain plays were unfair. He’s not rotten, just extremely distraught. He probably sees losing as a personal failure.   
Note: Make him think about a tough loss before playing a match. Maybe it will distract him.

Kenma, his camping chair folded and beside him, motioned for Kuroo. 

“Alright, guys, pack her up,” he said, motioning for the first-years. “It’s time for some trademark local fare, only two blocks away and the best quality in all of Japan.”

Akaashi didn’t mind, wherever it was. According to his calculations, he and Iwaizumi had won the most points by a landslide. He followed the rest of the group as they walked across the park and into the street. 

Suga fell into step behind him. “Guess who else got a free meal?”

“Oikawa?” 

“No,” Suga said. “Well, actually yes. But also me. Wanna know how I got it?”

“What did you bet on?”

“Number of games you and Iwaizumi would win. With the little freckled one,” he said, pointing to Yamaguchi, who was snickering at something Tsukishima had said.

“Suga, you shouldn’t gamble with minors,”

He waved his hand. “He’s sixteen, I think. It’s fine. And it’s not real gambling anyway, just betting. I bet you’d win more than eleven, and he had everything below. And I did the same with Yaku, so I guess he’s paying for a meal, too,”

“Oikawa can have that one?”

Suga laughed. “Yep, Oikawa can have that one!”

The roar of a highway grew nearer, and Kuroo scampered to the middle of the street, arms held wide. “This, my friends, what you are about to experience, is the pinnacle of gourmet eating,”

Akaashi looked around for a small restaurant, maybe a red canopy. Probably had locally owned on the window, had a few menus in a slot by the door. But all he could see were houses and the golden arches of fast food.

Wait.

Kuroo opened the door of McDonald’s like a waiter at a fine restaurant. “After you,” he said.

\---

Badminton: tennis for the country estate of the dukes of Beaufort in Gloucestershire, England. Named for the Badminton estate where it was first played in about 1873. It is not tennis. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took me like two weeks you guys i had some family stuff to do. but this is like 1.5x what I usually write so that should make up for it lol. don't be afraid to tell me how I did in the comments!


	5. Koushi Sugawara

Player Profile: Koushi Sugawara  
School: Aoba Johsai  
Koushi Sugawara is Aoba Johsai’s current number two player. He’s a good player, but lacks the athleticism to fight his way to any number one position.   
His serve ritual is unknown; he seems to change it every few weeks.  
Power: 3/5  
Stamina: 4/5  
Game Sense: 5/5  
Speed: 3/5  
Technique: 4/5  
Notes: Likes to talk to his opponents pre-match, then act pleasantly surprised when they play each other.

\---  
“Akaashi, how can you expect people to be nice to you if you barely even talk to them,” Suga said with a bit of a laugh. They were practicing serves, and Akaashi was complaining about his math teacher who kept forgetting his name.

“I’m not expecting them to be nice, I’m just expecting them to not be mean,” Akaashi said. Suga was being especially insufferable lately. Not that he was insufferable normally, it’s just that he was always so happy and kind that he expected everyone else to hold themselves to the same standard. It made him a wonderful friend, but you had to wonder if he was human.

For chrissake, they were four weeks into the school year. It was unacceptable in Akaashi’s eyes, but Suga was in such good spirits that he had jumped to defend the teacher.

“He’s probably got a lot on his mind anyway,” Suga said, hitting a serve that missed the service box by a few centimeters. “Maybe he’s going through a divorce,”

“Doubt it,” Akaashi scoffed. “Who’d marry a math teacher?”

“Fair,” Suga said, though his eyes sparkled. “Anybody who genuinely enjoys math is bound to be so boring and utterly dry,”

Akaashi narrowed his eyes and hit a serve, the one with the kickback he’d been trying out. “I feel like you’re making fun of me,”

“How could you? I would never,”

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“Dearest Akaashi,” Suga said, placing a hand over his heart. “I have a whole year’s worth of wisdom that you do not. Of course I know things you don’t.”

“Whatever.” Akaashi said. He looked around at his teammates. Kunimi had just missed the third serve in a row. Akaashi frowned. Takeda was paying attention to Tanaka a few courts away.

He walked over to Kunimi.

Kunimi saw him coming and his face immediately shut down. “You want me to grip my racquet at more of an angle, don’t you?”

Akaashi stopped. He had been about to suggest that. “Is there a reason why you’re not doing it?” 

“I’m off balance after I serve and then I’m not ready for the next shot,” Kunimi said in his monotone. “It’s exhausting.”

Akaashi’s brow furrowed. “Can I watch you do one? He asked. Maybe if he saw one, he could figure out what the problem was.

He walked Kunimi through his service motion, but he was still thinking about what Suga could possibly know that Akaashi didn’t and what that had to do with math skills. It couldn’t have anything to do with the math teacher in particular, could it? If Suga was suggesting that Akaashi sleep with his teacher for an A, there was no way. First, Akaashi would never stoop to that level. The man was a black hole of sex appeal; he had so little that it dragged appeal out of everyone else, too. Second, it probably wouldn’t even work. Also it was illegal. 

“Yeah, good,” Akaashi said. “Also, you won’t be off balance if you start farther behind the baseline,”

Kunimi obediently stepped back and tried another serve. Akaashi watched as it skimmed the top of the net before dropping into the service box.

Suga was probably too bored; he needed something to spice his life up. There’d been his cryptic remarks about a possible new love interest a few weeks ago, but that couldn’t possibly still be working out. He hadn’t said anything more about it or given any more cryptic hints. Suga never liked to share things on his own; always making everyone else play guessing games until he was satisfied and all his secrets were out. 

Takeda called the team in for some volley drills, and Akaashi didn’t have time to dwell on it any longer.

After practice he took the train down to a cafe to work on his modern lit paper. It was a nice place, not too far from his home. Locally owned, not too expensive, etc. Good lighting. You didn’t feel like you’d be judged for coming in wearing your practice clothes as long as you didn’t smell too bad (or at least Akaashi that’s how Akaashi felt). 

A bell rang as he opened the door and he was hit with the smell of baked goods and coffee. It took him a few seconds to adjust to the nice yellow light inside and he joined the queue to order at the counter.

He got his coffee and slid into a booth in the corner, taking the side facing the door. It was a busy time for the cafe– nearly all the tables had customers. He was lucky to have a whole booth to himself. 

Akaashi pulled out his laptop and connected to the wifi. But a small movement across the table caught his eye.

A napkin had been slid onto the table. He scooted his computer over and grabbed it. It had a phone number on it in blue crayon.

He was debating whether to apologize to his neighbor in the other booth or just throw the napkin away when a head with familiar prematurely grey hair poked around the corner.

“Hey, hey, hey! We have to stop meeting like this,” Bokuto said, grinning. Then the grin fell. “Unless, of course, you’d rather not meet at all which is totally fine,”

“Relax Bokuto, not meeting at all would still stop us from meeting like this,” He said. Bokutos’ face seemed to fall even more and he turned away. “No wait!” Akaashi said. “I was trying to make a joke. Sorry. It probably wasn’t very funny, now that I think about it,”

“No, no. It’s fine.” It probably wasn’t fine. Akaashi needed some way to make it up to him. Sure, Bokuto was his tennis nemesis, but that didn’t mean Bokuto had to think he was an asshole.

“Um, you can come sit with me if you want,” he said. That seemed to work, because Bokuto brightened. In a blink, he was sitting across from Akaashi and at least four notebooks were spread over any available space at the table.

“Are you doing homework?” he asked, rifling through one of them. The sheets of paper were folded at odd angles. Akaashi resisted the temptation to fold them back into their proper places.

“Yeah, working on a paper,” Akaashi said, motioning to his laptop and the nearly-empty document open on it. “You?”

“Math,” he said, pulling out a calculator and toying with some of the buttons. “Have a lot of difficult problems today.”

Akaashi tried and failed to finish the paper. See, Bokuto kept chattering along as Akaashi typed and Akaashi didn’t hate it. In fact, it was nice. Bokuto seemed to read when Akaashi reached a stopping point or finished a subtopic on his outline and would ask him a question or for his thoughts at those moments. Akaashi started to prefer multitasking over simply tuning Bokuto out.

It was dangerous. He wasn’t getting as much work done as he knew he could, but he didn’t mind. Terrifying. 

He snuck a peek at Bokuto’s math and blinked. There were hardly any numbers. When Bokuto muttered about his math work being difficult, he’d assumed it meant that he wasn’t very good at math. In honesty, Akaashi had been preparing to help Bokuto with algebra. This was higher math than Akaashi really had any taste in seeing. 

How could Bokuto manage to keep talking about tennis and his friends and owls while doing something like this?

“Hey, you good, Akaashi?” Bokuto asked, looking up at him curiously. 

So he had noticed him spacing out. Akaashi shook his head. “Oh, uh. Yeah,”

“Cool! Just seemed like you were off somewhere. Was I being distracting?” He asked. 

“Not at all,” he said. “I like it,” he added.

“Oh,” Bokuto said. Then he covered his face with his jacket. “I don’t have much more to talk about, though,”

For some reason, Akaashi doubted that. “Really?”

Bokuto shrugged. “I don’t know. I just tend to talk about the same things all the time and, um, sometimes people find it boring,”

“Does Kuroo find it boring?” Akaashi asked. They were best friends, right? Bokuto shouldn’t have to worry about someone willingly hanging out with him thinking he was annoying.

“Huh?” Bokuto said, his eyebrows furrowing and a hand going up to play with his hair. “No?”

“Or Kenma?”

He shook his head.

“They’re your best friends, right? If they don’t find it boring, I don’t either.” Akaashi sighed. “I want to beat you in tennis, not destroy your life and self-esteem. So if you could just talk about your tennis strategy you’d be doing two favors to me: letting me in on your secrets and helping me concentrate on my homework,”

The second part wasn’t completely true, but it was close enough. Akaashi felt like the white lie was justified in this circumstance.

Bokuto laughed. The sound was gentler than Akaashi would have expected, more like the patter of rain on a roof than a crack of thunder. “You strike a tough bargain, Akaashi. But I’m afraid I’ve caught onto your little plan. No tennis talk for you!”

“Are you sure?” Akaashi said. His computer had gone to sleep. He didn’t turn it back on. “No secrets about who you're playing next, no dual match insider info?”

“You first,” Bokuto said, leaning over the table. 

Akaashi rolled his eyes and leaned back against the back of the booth. “There’s this match against Johzenji that I’m worried about because of their number one, Terushima…”

Akaashi let all of his worries about Terushima fall out of his mouth, about his energy and how Akaashi wasn’t sure he could keep up, about how if his stamina was a 5/5 then Terushima’s was a 6/5 and he’d have to change up strategy in order to beat him.

“Well, if he’s distractible you can always just trap him in patterns,” Bokuto said from behind his notebook.

When Akaashi didn’t say anything, Bokuto continued. “You know. Like for awhile hit all of your returns cross-court, and as soon as he starts expecting it you hit it right at him, and then you vary it after that,”

“Bokuto, you’re brilliant,”

“Of course I am,” He said, waving a hand. Akaashi stifled a smile. “When is the match?”

“This Friday,” Akaashi said without thinking.

“Hm. I don’t think I have anything as long as it’s after practice…”

“No way. You’re not coming to my tennis match,”

Bokuto pouted. “I’ll be quiet,”

“Fine do whatever you want,” Akaashi said, waving his hand in a way he hoped Bokuto would see as teasing. “I don’t care,”

“Akaashi,” Bokuto said, dragging out the second syllable. “I think you do care,”

“No, I don’t,” He said petulantly.

Bokuto dropped it. They worked in silence for a while longer until Bokuto closed his notebook. “That’s it, I’m done. See you Friday!”

Akaashi watched him leave, then packed up his stuff to leave as well. He couldn’t bring himself to throw away the napkin with Bokuto’s phone number on it, and he stuffed it inside his pants pocket. 

Later that night, he pulled the napkin out again and stared at it. He plugged the numbers into his phone.

Akaashi: Hey bokuto, this is akaashi

Bokuto: holy shit i didn’t think you’d actually take my number  
Bokuto: You sure this is akaashi

Akaashi: As sure as i am that you’re bokuto  
Akaashi: If you’re convinced on coming to the match, it should be after practice. It’s in the evening, starts at 6 so it’ll be a tight squeeze if you’re coming by train

Bokuto: That’s fine. I’m fast

Akaashi: im sure you are

Akaashi opened a new Bokuto weakness entry - E

Earnest, Surprisingly - Bokuto is utterly incapable of doing things by halves. If he suggests something, he’s already prepared to carry it out. He’s truthful, and sometimes it takes him a second to get other people’s jokes.   
Note: say something sarcastic to him before the match, he will spend the whole match thinking about whether or not he should laugh at your joke and will be distracted from the ball.

The next few days passed by quickly, and if Akaashi spent more hours staring at his phone crafting responses to the random little messages Bokuto sent to him throughout the day, so what? He didn’t use his phone all that much anyway. It was good to get some use out of it. 

Suga kept eyeing him weirdly, though. Akaashi needed to find something to occupy him quickly or he’d be sucked into who-knows-what kind of scheme.

At the dual match he got a few minutes away from him while he was out chatting up his opponent or whatever it is he talks to them about. He looked up into the bleachers, and sure enough, Bokuto was there, working quietly on something. They made eye contact and Bokuto gave a little wave. Akaashi smiled back.

His match against Terushima worked exactly how Bokuto said it would. Akaashi could say he was pleasantly surprised, except he wasn’t surprised. Pleasantly correct? Surprisingly predictable? Either worked. And yet, Akaashi didn’t manage to win. He had been concentrating so hard to wear Terushima out that he had worn himself out, as well, and had made unforced errors.

“Hey, good game!” Terushima said, reaching out to shake Akaashi’s hand. A metallic glint flickered between his teeth- he hadn’t had a tongue piercing last year. Akaashi wondered if he’d done it himself or if his parents had signed off on it.

“You too,” Akaashi said, somewhat less enthusiastically. He looked back to where Bokuto was sitting on the bleachers. Bokuto opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but Akaashi motioned to the little alleyway behind the bleachers. Any discussion with Bokuto he didn’t want to have across two tennis courts.

“Got a girlfriend up there?” Terushima asked. 

Akaashi started. “No,” he said, probably too quickly, but Terushima didn’t notice.

“Oh, cool. You interested in one? Not a girlfriend, a boyfriend. Hi, I’m Terushima. If you’re interested, you’re really pretty and I’d love to date you,” he said, the words running out of his mouth faster than any bullet train could hope to go.

“Um,” Akaashi said.

“That’s okay if you’re not into guys I can go. I’m just gonna go.” He said, turning to his water bottle and the towel he left sitting on the courtside.

Akaashi thought about going to him, saying yes, I am into guys, but also no, sorry. But without a real reason to back up his no, sorry, it seemed pointless. And all he would do was raise Terushima’s hopes to slash them back down again.

He shrugged, placing his tennis racquet into his bag and picking it up. He waved to Oikawa and Iwaizumi, who were to be playing their match on the court he’d just vacated. “Good luck,” he said.

“We won’t need it,” said Oikawa.

“Thanks.” said Iwaizumi.

He saw that Terushima was bothering Kiyoko. He didn’t interfere; Kiyoko could handle herself. And if she was into tongue piercings and dyed eyebrows, well, Akaashi couldn’t fully blame her. Plus, it was her choice and all. It wasn’t exactly like Akaashi was trying to keep either of them for himself.

Bokuto was waiting in the little alley. He brightened when he looked up from his phone and saw Akaashi.

“Hey, hey hey!” He greeted.

They talked for several minutes about how his match with Terushima had gone. Bokuto was insightful, offering good advice on how Akaashi could have managed the match better. And honestly, Akaashi didn’t mind that Bokuto was learning so much about his weaknesses as a player. Okay, maybe he did mind a little, but it was all for his own benefit. It was a calculated exchange: in order for Akaashi to get better, he had to expose a few of his weaknesses. 

Several people walked by them, but Akaashi didn’t pay them much mind. He didn’t recognize any of them and he and Bokuto were only having a conversation about tennis, after all.

“Oh, Akaashi!” One of them said, turning around. It was Terushima. He sounded surprised. “So you do like boys, after all. You’re just taken,” he said, laughing. One of his friends said something to him and he turned away before Akaashi, now flushed from the tips of his ears all the way down to his toes, could respond.

He looked at Bokuto. Bokuto looked back. They looked at Terushima. Akaashi cracked his knuckles, one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine, and over again on the right hand.

“Hey, Bokuto,” he said.

“Yeah,” Bokuto said. His voice cracked in the middle of the word, likely embarrassed at being mistaken not only for being gay, but also for dating Akaashi, of all people.

“If you suspected your friend was, say, romantically or sexually bored, what would you do?” He asked. 

Bokuto seemed to breathe out all his tension. “Probably set them up with someone. Oh, do you have a friend like that?”

“Yeah, well, I think so,” he said. “You remember Suga, right?”

He nodded. Of course he did. Suga was hard to forget. 

“Do you happen to know anyone we could set him up with? See, I doubt he’ll think we’re conspiring,” Akaashi said, pointing between them. “So we’ll be able to work together without interruption,”

Bokuto thought for a second before replying. “You know, one of my teammates has been acting weird lately, like he wants to talk to us about something but doesn’t know if he can,” He frowned. “It might be good to have him meet someone he doesn’t know quite as well.”

“Does he like guys?” Akaashi asked. It was the sort of thing you need to know before setting someone up with your male teammate.

“I don’t know. I mean, there’s as good of a chance as the rest of us on the team,” Bokuto said, eyes crinkling like he’d made a private little joke. “It’s Daichi,”

“Daichi,” Akaashi repeated. “Brunet, hot dad energy?”

Bokuto laughed, his light and rumbly beautiful laugh spilling all over the brick of the alley. “Yeah. we like to tease him about having sexy thighs,”

Akaashi filed that little bit of information away for later. “Huh. I’ll text you and we can see if we can have them accidentally run into each other, yeah?”

“That sounds great.”

Akaashi left the dual match against Johzenji that day with so many gears spinning in his brain he thought he’d explode with energy. He had a new ally, a plan for tennis domination torn to shreds and being repaired by the second, and half of a half of a plan.

\---  
Tennis Court Divisions - a tennis court is divided first into two halves, one for each team. Then, a line on the left and right sides separates the doubles alley. A ball hit into the doubles alley in a singles game is out of bounds, but in a doubles game it is in. There are two equal sized boxes near the net. When the player across the net serves, their serve has to hit in the box diagonal to where they served from. This is the service box.

Cross-court shot - this is a shot that goes diagonally across the court. Its opposite would be a straight shot, which goes in a straight line.   
\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha sorry this one is a little short and took a little while to write, I just didn't want to get into the whole setting people up thing immediately yk. ill try to have the next chapter out p quickly.   
> as always, I love yall's comments!! <3 to those have been reading and enjoying this and leaving kudos and comments! ily


	6. Daichi Sawamura

Player Profile: Daichi Sawamura

School: Fukurodani

Daichi Sawamura is Fukurodani’s current number four player. He is an excellent defender, but needs to work on attacking. He acts as an emotional rock for his doubles partner, Asahi Azumane. 

Serve Ritual: Checks to make sure he has one tennis ball in each pocket, then takes a deep breath and serves.

Power: 3/5

Stamina: 4/5

Game Sense: 4/5

Speed: 4/5

Technique: 4/5

Notes: nice thighs.

Bokuto called for a water break and he and Kuroo jogged over to the sidelines. They’d been practicing serves for the past forty minutes, and it was wearing on them both.

He raised the water bottle up to his lips, then paused. “Kuroo, do you think it would be hypothetically possible to set Daichi up on a date without him knowing?”

Kuroo rolled his eyes. “How old are you, twelve?”

“Probably. Anyway, answer?”

“Maybe,” Kuroo said, considering. “Who are we talking?”

Bokuto fidgeted with the lid. “Okay, so Akaashi wanted to distract his friend – I don’t even know why, it seemed pretty sketchy and baseless to me – but-”

“But you just went along with it.” Kuroo finished the sentence for him, sounding both disappointed and amused. What could he say? Bokuto had always had a hard time saying no when people asked him for favors. 

Bokuto sighed. “So now if I want to, like, get to know Akaashi I have to stalk his teammate AND get mine involved,”

Kuroo nodded like this all made perfect sense. “Is Daichi even gay?”

Bokuto shrugged. “Hey Daichi, are you gay?” He yelled.

Across a few courts, Daichi gave him a thumbs up.

“He’s gay,”

“Excellent detective work, Mr. Detective,” Kuroo said, patting him on the back.

“Why, thank you, my dashing assistant.”

“Get married already!” Someone shouted. It was Lev, who had seen the pair loitering and decided it was perfectly alright for him to do so, too.

Bokuto released Kuroo from where he had jumped into his arms. “Neither of us are forty and alone yet, so no can do,” he said apologetically.

Kuroo posed on the ground like he had fallen on purpose. “We made a pact,” he said, raising his pinky.

“In blood,” Bokuto added, linking their pinkies together. The effect was not unlike a grand painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

“For real?” Lev asked. He took a drink of his water like he was an extra in a bar scene in a musical.

“Maybe,” they said together.

“Wait,” Kuroo said, jumping up and whipping around so quickly he slapped Bokuto in the chest. “So does that mean you and Akaashi talk now?”

Bokuto cradled his left tit as he thought about how to answer that question. They did, in a manner of speaking, talk. That is, Akaashi was a bit of a dry texter and it was doing all sorts of things to Bokuto’s tendency to overanalyze (Bokuto could practically wax poetical on the different inflections of “ok”). 

Luckily, he was saved from answering by the metaphorical bell of Coach Nekomata demanding the three of them stop standing around and run a few laps. The conversation promptly ended.

Until after practice, that is, when Bokuto checked his phone and found an unread text. He and Kuroo had just finished locking up the club room and were on their way to their homes, Kenma trailing behind. 

“Oh my God he texted me,” Bokuto said, waving the phone in front of Kuroo’s face.

Kuroo grabbed Bokuto’s wrist to read the message. He made a strange face. “You guys are disgusting,”

Bokuto flipped the phone around to see for himself.

!! Akaashi !! : i’ve convinced suga to go to that cafe we met at one time. do you think you can convince daichi to come?

Bokuto turned an accusing glare toward Kuroo “That’s a perfectly normal message,” he said. “And that’s for hitting me in the boobs during practice!” He said, slapping Kuroo across the chest.

“You won’t beat it out of him. He’s been a squirrely little asshole since the day we met,” Kenma said.

“That was an accident–” Kuroo bemoaned. “Plus, you love me anyway,”

Kenma waved it away with his hand. “Go flirt with someone else.”

“He didn’t say no!” Kuroo said, looking around excitedly for affirmation.

Bokuto waved goodbye, leaving Kenma and Kuroo to whatever they were about to discuss (probably him). He needed to stuff Daichi into the sort of cafe he’d probably never enter by choice, except for a job interview.

Twenty minutes later, Bokuto was mostly just thankful Daichi had a hard time refusing things, especially when you asked more than once. He hoped he hadn’t been too suspicious.

He had probably been very suspicious.

Well, no matter. He stood in the entryway, peeking over the tops of booths and at tables to spot Akaashi. Then the bell behind him tinkled and he swung around, ready to apologize for being in the way of a customer. But he turned to look directly into Akaashi’s eyes. 

Bokuto closed his mouth, stopping the apologies from escaping. They didn’t seem appropriate anymore.

“No way, Daichi!” Suga laughed and moved to give Daichi a hug. “And Bokuto! Surprised to see you guys here!”

“Hey, Suga,” Daichi said, a small smile gracing his lips. “Fancy seeing you here. I thought we were going to meet up this weekend,” 

“Oh, don’t say meet up like we’re businessmen or something,” Suga said, swatting at Daichi’s chest. “It’s a date,” he stage-whispered to Bokuto.

Bokuto’s brain immediately began operating at the highest frequency since the time his calculator had died two minutes into a geometry test. And, much like that instance, there were so many thoughts flying around he could barely make sense of any of them. If Akaashi known Daichi and Suga were already dating, he wouldn’t have tried to make them meet up. Would he? Bokuto didn’t know him very well yet. It was possible. But no, judging by the way Akaashi was fiddling with his fingers, he was also desperately trying to look pleasantly surprised rather than incredulously disappointed. 

“What are you doing down here, anway?” Suga was asking.

“Not really sure,” Daichi said, squinting at Bokuto.

Bokuto wanted to sink through the floor. He made frantic eye contact with Akaashi, but Akaashi was now staring straight ahead at nothing, his eyes widened slightly and the tips of his ears bright red. It appeared as if he wanted to skip dying and just take the express train straight to hell. Bokuto sympathized.

“Well, uh, actually,” he scrambled to improvise some plausible excuse. “Akaashi wanted me to look at some of his um, math homework and I didn’t want to come here all alone?”

Daichi shrugged. “Checks out. I’ll order for you guys if you want to find a seat,”

Akaashi spoke for the first time. “Suga, you should go with him. Four drinks, Daichi only has two hands.”

As soon as Suga was out of earshot, Bokuto dragged Akaashi to the nearest booth and sat down next to him.

“Did you know?” he hissed.

“No! Did you?”

“No,” Bokuto said. “I had no idea he was gay until, like, a few hours ago.” 

In truth, Bokuto was more than a little relieved. He had no idea how to set anyone up in the first place, and it wasn’t a skill he’d ever really considered adding to his repertoire. 

But, on the negative, if Suga and Daichi were all matched up already, then Akaashi might just go back to everything being normal. They might stop talking, and after the tennis season ended there'd be no way their paths would even cross.

Well, there’s always hope Daichi would let him be a bridesmaid.

“Do you have your homework with you? Bokuto asked suddenly.

Akaashi blinked. “Yeah. Do you actually want to look over it?”

“I said I would, right? Besides, it’ll keep me busy,” Bokuto said, smiling a little.

He received the spiral notebook, opened it to the page Akaashi indicated, and busied himself checking the equations. It wasn’t difficult work, but as Suga sat down and engaged Akaashi in fast-paced school gossip, he was thankful for it.

Apparently, Daichi was well enough informed about the details that he could follow the conversation as well. Bokuto took a sip of his latte. 

“Did he actually–“

“No, but the point is everyone  _ thinks _ he did, so he might as well have,”

“I would have never thought…”

Bokuto flipped the page. It was blank, so he closed the cover and began pretending to listen.

Akaashi noticed the slight movement and cocked an eyebrow, as if to say  _ “all good?” _

Bokuto nodded. Akaashi slid his eyes back to Suga, who was still talking animatedly. 

“I can’t believe I totally left you out of the conversation!” Suga seemed genuinely regretful, which was nice. Good to know Akaashi’s friend isn’t a complete asshole.

Bokuto waved a hand. “It’s totally okay. Happens sometimes. But how did you and Daichi start doing this whole…” he made a vague hand motion between them. “...thing?”

If Suga had been lit up before, he was positively glowing now. He explained the whole thing, meeting up at a tournament, teaching little kids at a summer camp, getting to know each other, the whole thing. It was sickeningly romantic, and Bokuto felt himself getting more despondent with each word. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t happy for them (as happy as you could be on a first date), but it opened a nasty hole inside of him. 

Jealousy.

He wanted to leave. He looked to Akaashi, whose eyes had glazed over somewhat. 

“That’s fun!” He said. “Very cool,”

Akaashi shot him a slightly confused and panicked look. Bokuto furrowed his eyebrows. He hadn’t thought he’d said anything weird.

“You came on the train, right?” Akaashi said.

Bokuto nodded. 

“We did as well. So if there’s anything you two want to do…” He left the question open for Suga (or Daichi) to fill. 

Oh. This was their cue to excuse themselves. 

Bokuto slid out of the booth after Akaashi.

They walked to the exit silently, Bokuto building up the confidence to say something the whole way.

“See you,” Akaashi said. Bokuto started. Had they already left the cafe? Bokuto turned around. Yes, the door was behind him. 

What should he say? There were so many options. 

“When’s your next match?”

Akaashi blinked. “Tomorrow.”

Right. It was Friday. 

“See you then,” Bokuto said. He waved and turned to walk back to the train station. Akaashi left in the opposite direction.

It hadn’t been  _ bad _ . All things considered, Suga and Daichi already knowing each other was probably the least painful way the whole meetup could have gone. And yet, part of Bokuto wished they hadn’t known each other at all, and that he and Akaashi had to play the best friends who had to force their other friends to get along. He and Akaashi could have created inside jokes, could have plotted little ways to make their friends comfortable with each other.

He sat down heavily on the bench at the train stop. 

Bokuto was, more than anything else, disappointed. He reached into his bag for his phone. His fingers hit a smooth surface instead, much too long and a little too soft to be a phone. He slid his hand over the foreign object to find a few dips and ridges in the material and smaller, thinner slivers of something. It was a notebook. He pulled it out, looked at it quizzically. He didn’t have a notebook.

Oh no.

He opened it to the first page.  _ Keiji Akaashi. _

Oh  _ no _ . Bokuto had forgotten to give Akaashi’s notebook back. He unlocked his phone. Ten minutes before Akaashi’s train would arrive. There wasn’t enough time for Akaashi to go all the way to Bokuto’s station and back. And if Bokuto texted him, there was no telling if Akaashi would even see it.

He stood up. The train pulled into his station. For a brief moment, he thought about boarding it. Then he took off in the other direction, shouting an apology to the woman whose grocery bags he unsettled. But he really didn’t have time to waste. 

Thank god he’d changed out of his tennis shoes. They’d be covered in street dust and all the grip they have would be wasted. The train he’d just abandoned rumbled past him. It blew a gum wrapper across his path, which he attempted to avoid and ended up kicking. 

When he had to cross the street, he ignored the light-up walking man and just sort of prayed that he wouldn’t get hit. He only got honked at twice.

“Sorry, school emergency!” He waved as the driver rolled their eyes at him.

He made it to Akaashi’s station in nine and a half minutes. The train was already there. He frantically scanned the small crowd of people, all watching him with barely-concealed interest out of the corners of their eyes. Bokuto looked into the first train car. A black-haired boy started when they made eye contact

Bokuto waved.

Akaashi gave an adorably confused little wave back, his hand raising to his shoulder and not really falling back down. It hovered uncertainly and outstretched at elbow height. 

He walked into the train car. Bokuto would have time enough to leave and get back to his own train after this. 

“I stole your notebook,” he said, pulling it out his bag and placing it into Akaashi’s hand. “Sorry,”

Akaashi stared at him, the notebook loosely gripped in his left hand. Bokuto searched his eyes for how he should continue.

He shifted from foot to foot. “I just figured you’d need it on Monday and I wanted to make sure you got it. I don’t know where you live and also I can’t drive so I couldn’t drop it by, and–”

“Thank you,” Akaashi said quietly. “You missed your train, didn’t you?”

Bokuto shrugged and waved the comment off like it was a fly. “It’s not a big deal. There’ll be another one in forty-five minutes,”

“Mm,” Akaashi said. He put the notebook in his bag carefully. “But you’re on mine now, aren’t you?”

The automatic door closed behind him and Bokuto’s eyes widened in alarm. This wasn’t in the plan. He was supposed to return Akaashi’s notebook like a regular hero and then just go back to his normal business like it was no big deal, really.

“Where’s the next stop?” he asked. Maybe he could just get off there and take a train back. 

Akaashi frowned. “I actually don’t know. I’ve never had to go there,”

That’s fine. That’s okay. They had maps in at the stations and Bokuto knew how to read maps and he could find his way back and how had he never taken this train before? He lived in this city (not in this neighborhood, but close enough).

Something touched his wrist. He looked down. Akaashi’s hand was loosely clasped around it. “You can just come back to mine. It’s no big deal,” he said gently. 

Bokuto must have looked more stressed than he thought.

“No, no. I couldn’t impose on your family like that–”

“My parents are gone for the weekend,” he said.

For the weekend? First off, how lonely. Akaashi had said it like it was just a normal thing to happen. Second off, the  _ weekend _ ?! Bokuto immediately blushed. 

“Wait, no, not… like that. Like, they won’t mind if I have a friend over for dinner or something because they won’t be there. You know?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yeah! That totally makes sense. I understand,” Bokuto said. 

“It’s fine. Also, you seem like to kind of guy who knows how to cook and I used up all the microwave dinners this week,”

Bokuto was about to express outrage at being profiled so easily before he fully registered what Akaashi had said. “You mean you’ve had to cook for yourself all week?”

“Just Monday and Tuesday. And Thursday,” he said. “And Sunday,”

“That’s literally every day except Wednesday,”

Akaashi shrugged and typed something into his phone. 

Bokuto continued to berate him about health and loneliness and self care for the next three stops. He was still marvelling at how Akaashi hadn’t completely fallen into a spiral of depression and filth when Akaashi stopped in front of a looming gated building. He punched some numbers into the keypad and the gate unlocked.

“Is your apartment in here?” He asked.

“No,” Akaashi said, closing the gate carefully behind them. “This is my house,”

_ Holy shit Akaashi was rich _ . The house was in contemporary design, two stories tall and sprawled all over the lot, with huge windows and perfectly groomed landscaping.

Bokuto followed him along the stone path and up some steps to where Akaashi punched in another keycode. A metallic click sounded from behind the grand navy door.

“Just through here,” Akaashi said. He sounded completely unfazed with all this grandeur, though Bokuto figured as much. Akaashi lived here. He  _ lived _ here. It was like Bokuto had just earned the favor of one of the old daimyo by accident, or like going to an art gallery and finding out it was all one person’s collection. Akaashi toed off his shoes in the entrance, completely oblivious to how fine the wooden planks beneath him were, or how priceless the little bowl for keys on the table by the entryway probably was. 

A long hallway stretched beyond them. There were lots of photographs on the walls, pictures of the ocean and mountains and cities. They were glossy and framed, huge prints. Bokuto wanted to fall into every one of them and stay in the vibrant colors forever. 

Akaashi continued to pad through the hall. As they drew nearer to the end, it opened up into a large sitting room. It, too, was elegantly decorated, with green low-sitting sofas and some coordinated abstract art on the wall. The far side was almost entirely windows, the golden rays from the setting sun lighting the entire room ablaze, no need for electric lights. Beyond the sitting room was a seemingly endless kitchen counter, two ovens, and more cabinets than Bokuto could think of items to put in them. 

“You’re quiet,” Akaashi said.

“Just… taking it all in,” Bokuto said. There was a layer of dust over the countertops. Everything was spotless, though.

“What do you think?” Akaashi asked, the same flat expression on his face. He’d worn it the entire time, and it was starting to tear away at Bokuto’s consciousness. Bokuto knew it meant something and that he should respond a certain way, he just didn’t know what that certain way was supposed to be. 

He took in a deep breath. He was still carrying his backpack. “It’s nice. Like a museum,”

To his surprise, Akaashi laughed. “That’s exactly what it is. A museum,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Anyways, I think there’s stuff for curry or whatever in the kitchen,”

“There had better be. All those cabinets better be good for something,” Bokuto said, cracking a grin. 

And just like that, the tension was broken. Bokuto tried to teach Akaashi how to cook, but it was useless. Bokuto would hand him a wooden spoon and Akaashi would burn it, Bokuto handed Akaashi some cubes of chicken and they’d disappear into thin air only to be found in a cabinet neither of them had remembered opening. 

They ate on stools at the counter. It wasn’t his best work, but Akaashi seemed appreciative. He hadn’t even complained when Bokuto banished him from his own kitchen, so his lack of grumbling was really remarkable, in Bokuto’s opinion. They made small talk, it was nice. 

But Bokuto couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. 

A few hours later, they ended up in Akaashi’s bedroom. He had taken out a futon. Bokuto was sitting on it, wearing his practice clothes from earlier, and Akaashi sat on the floor against the wall nearby.

The room was huge, in comparison to Bokuto’s own. There were vaulted ceilings and a separate office space and a closet that actually held clothes. A small pile of tennis balls had collected in one corner. 

“D’you play any sports?” Bokuto asked suddenly. It had been a bit too quiet for his taste, and he’d gotten tired of pretending he wasn’t looking at Akaashi. “Besides tennis,” he added.

“No. It’s always just been tennis,”

“Even when you were little? Like elementary school?”

“Even in elementary school,” Akaashi said, and there was a resigned heaviness to his voice that gave Bokuto pause. 

“Were you an academy kid?” He asked slowly. He knew about them. Tennis academies that started kids as soon as they could hold a racquet, putting them through years of training so they could go professional at fifteen. 

Akaashi sighed, and slid down the wall a little farther. “Didn’t think it’d take you a single evening to get to the heart of my tragic backstory,”

Bokuto laughed sheepishly. “If you don’t wanna tell me, it’s fine. I can talk about something else. Like owls! We were studying them in biology the other day–”

“No,” Akaashi said, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I– I sort of just assume everyone knows about it. All my friends at school do. I was an academy kid in elementary school, started travelling to tournaments, missing weeks of school by the time I was in fifth grade. But the summer before middle school, my coach got busted for tax fraud.” He laughed. “It wasn’t anything dramatic, but my parents didn’t want to get implicated in anything and pulled me out of academy tennis altogether. I had to figure out who I was when I wasn’t at practice or tournaments really quickly, and–”

“–and that’s a lot of ask of a twelve-year-old,” Bokuto finished. 

“It’s not like it’s a sob story or anything,” Akaashi said, turning away. “It just hurts a little bit, when I hear about my old teammates and think, ‘That could have been me,’”

Bokuto nodded. “I’m not here to give you life advice or anything, but that’s just sort of how things work, you know? Like whenever you make a choice or a choice is made for you, you have to give something up. You gave up a nice, quiet weekend for me asking about your life story at 10pm,”

A little smile ghosted across Akaashi’s face, then he pulled it back and granted Bokuto a full smile and of course he had perfect teeth, of course Akaashi smiled so genuinely, so kindly…

“You’re a good friend, Bokuto,”

“We’re friends?” The words tumbled out of Bokuto’s mouth before he could stop them. “I thought we were tennis rivals,”

The smile still gleamed on Akaashi’s face, bright and intoxicating. “We can be that, too,” he said. “They aren’t mutually exclusive,”

That brought too much warmth to Bokuto’s heart. He felt like crying, or jumping on top of the roof and yelling to the whole world that Akaashi was his friend, now. Akaashi was looking at him with concern.

“Sorry, this just happens sometimes. I don’t, uh, have a great handle on a lot of things,” Bokuto explained quickly. “Like emotions and stuff. Sometimes I just feel them a lot more intensely than other people. So like when something good happens, I get super excited. And when something bad happens, I get, like, super depressed,” he shrugged. 

Akaashi shrugged, too. “That’s fine. I guess we balance each other out,”

“What do you mean?”

“You always show what you feel, and people tell me it’s like I’m wearing a mask sometimes,”

Bokuto furrowed his brow, cocked his head. Then he grabbed a pillow. 

“Hey!” Akaashi exclaimed as the pillow hit him in the side of the head.

“That’s gotta be the most unnecessarily edgy thing I’ve heard someone say since I proofread Kuroo’s middle school creative writing project,” Bokuto said, laughing. “And since we’re friends, now, I get to tease you,”

After Akaashi stopped pretending to be offended, he smiled as well. Then he laughed, and Bokuto thought it was the best sound in the world. 

———

Tennis Academy - most professional tennis players train at academies, and many parents send their children to academies with the hopes of securing college scholarships or a professional career path. They’re typically expensive, and the training gets more intense the older a child gets. Sometimes, the player lives there and sometimes they commute, depending on different things. Either way, it’s not an amazing environment for a child to grow up in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is obnoxiously late lol my computer broke and i lost my whole doc and outline. still hoping to get the rest of this out by the end of october, and if you’re in my creative writing class and one of these passages is suspiciously familiar, keep your mouth shut :)
> 
> anyways, your comments really make my day, especially on a really niche piece such as this one. thanks for reading!!


	7. Tooru Oikawa

Player Profile: Tooru Oikawa

School: Aoba Johsai

Tooru Oikawa is a great singles player, but he, unlike most tennis players, really shines in a team. His doubles game has been the among the best in the region for all three years. No matter which teammate he’s playing with, they work as a flawless unit. He is very good at placing serves; will serve to one side of the box all match only to switch to the other side for the last game. It’s very effective in breaking an opponent’s concentration and getting a service ace. 

His serve ritual is bouncing the ball with his racquet once, twirling his racket, then bouncing the ball with his hands twice.

Power: 5/5

Stamina: 4/5

Game Sense: 5/5

Speed: 3/5

Technique: 5/5

Notes: Suffered an injury to his right knee after the season his first year. He has to wear a brace during matches.

\---

In preparation for the Kanto Tournament, Fukurodani does a series of dual matches against other schools. The series starts the week of the tournament, and culminates in a final dual match against Aobajohsai. 

So Akaashi _could_ say he was just collecting more data on how to beat his opponent. He could, and yet, he opted to sort of disappear immediately after practice without explanation. 

His teammates, as they did best, noticed. 

First, it was Iwaizumi. He’d probably been forced into it by the other third-years, and had approached him Tuesday with a heavily put-upon expression. 

“Where’d you go, yesterday?” He asked, not at all casually. 

“Had some errands I had to run,” Akaashi said. He wasn’t sure exactly why he was lying, just that he had the sudden sense he had been doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. 

Iwaizumi read a message on his phone. “Okay,” he said. “Have fun running errands or whatever.”

Akaashi nodded. In truth, Akaashi wasn’t sure what he was doing. Bokuto was playing a few matches at another school, and Akaashi had heard about it in the natural ways you hear about these sort of things (extensively searching the Fukurodani school activities website), and he’d just sort of ended up at the tennis courts. You know how it happens. 

That’s what had happened on Monday.

So why, then, was it _tomorrow_ and he was doing _essentially the same thing_?

Tuesday, it was Suga. 

He approached him casually, during lunch break. 

“Noticed you left pretty quickly after practice,” he’d said, carefully doling out portions of his lunch to Akaashi. “Had somewhere to be?”

“Not really,” Akaashi said. “And you’re not going to be able to bribe me with food.” But he shoved the onigiri into his mouth anyway. It was an effective enough to reason to not answer any of Suga’s questions. 

Wednesday, Oikawa. Akaashi avoided him by ignoring him. Well, tried to. It didn’t make much difference to Oikawa, who was used to talking at people rather than talking with them. Akaashi found himself boarding the train with Oikawa right behind him, nodding his head and prattling on about so and so and girlfriends and whatnot. 

They got off the train near Fukurodani, and Oikawa, surprisingly enough, didn’t say anything. He just nodded his head in a smug little way. Akaashi narrowed his eyes. 

Oikawa continued to make smug little noises as he texted someone on his phone, following Akaashi down the streets and to the tennis courts. 

“Here to watch anyone in particular?” He almost sang.

Akaashi didn’t respond. He didn’t need to look at Oikawa’s face to know he was pouting. 

“I am, actually,” Oikawa continued after a moment. “Tsukishima and Kuroo. We’re playing against them tomorrow, right?”

Akaashi nodded. It was a grey day today; cloud cover everywhere. 

Oikawa laughed. “Made you respond! Anyway, I was planning on coming here already. Just scouting out the enemies, you know. Seeing how they’re doing in comparison to when we watched them at the beginning of the season. Seems like it’s only been a week, doesn’t it?”

Silence. 

“That’s just how your third year is, though, I guess. Just something for you to look forward to,” Oikawa said. He (somehow) kept chattering on and on about so many nothings Akaashi didn’t care about. He turned his attention downward; the players had started to pair off. 

Bokuto and his opponent went out onto the court. Akaashi wasn’t quite sure who the opponent was. He’s probably from out of town. No matter, Bokuto scanned the crowd quickly, his eyes passing over Akaashi. Good. He hadn’t been noticed. Bokuto said something to his opponent and flashed a bright smile. The opponent smiled back. Then they were hitting, just little shots up at the front of the net, but the way Bokuto hit it was like every shot was intentional. The opponent hit a stray shot. Bokuto stretched to reach it, his shirt riding up and exposing the barest bit of stomach. But the ball landed perfectly, all lined up for his opponent to hit another shot. It was incredible, really. Akaashi doubted he could hit with that kind of precision, knocked off-balance like that. 

Kuroo said something to Bokuto, and Bokuto laughed and hit his friend lightly on the head with his racquet. 

They moved onto serves, and now Akaashi couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Something about the white uniform, something about the way it stretched as Bokuto threw the ball to the sky to serve, the way it sprung back to normal after it bounced on the other side of the net. Bokuto smiled a little bit after every serve well done. It seemed that with every drop of confidence, Bokuto lit up the dreary day a little more. 

In order to win tomorrow, Akaashi needed to stifle that light. 

“Hey, you listening? Oh, wait,” Oikawa said, his voice somehow falling into an even more childish tone. “I get it, you don’t want to.” Out of the corner of his eye, Akaashi saw Oikawa’s teeth poke out from behind his lips in as much of a predatory grin as Oikawa was capable of making. 

Down on the courts, Kuroo’s sharp eyes spot Akaashi, just like they had at every other match. He waved. Akaashi waved back.

Oikawa started talking again, and Akaashi took the opportunity for some self reflection. 

Akaashi was giddy. After Bokuto had left his house Saturday morning, he’d been giddier than he thought it was possible to be. He’d spent hours just smiling to himself and looking at his own eyes in the mirror. His mother had asked if he was okay. 

Then he’d locked himself in his room and laid on the floor and stared at the ceiling. His brain was a little too fried with _exciting_ and _new_ and _Bokuto_ to do much else. 

Unfortunately, Akaashi’s face wasn’t that good at conveying emotion and his words were worse at communicating it. That’s it. He was terrible at telling anyone about his feelings, and by Monday, he’d schooled all his thoughts into a vague imitation of sullenness. And when you're grappling with your own limitations as a human, it’s not exactly pleasant to have your friends trying to barge in and wrestle the truth out of you.

Because, truthfully, Akaashi didn’t know what the truth was. He knew that being around Bokuto somehow made him unreasonably happy, and that was all. 

So it was very frustrating to have all his friends, who were evidently much better at playing psychiatrist for themselves, ask him to make sense of his actions. Why had Akaashi gone to all of Bokuto’s tennis matches this week? Beyond wanting to see Bokuto, Akaashi wasn’t altogether sure. And why was he making an effort to hide it from everyone else? Only a notion that others would somehow intrude on a private transcendental moment. 

It was sort of like that time in elementary school when Akaashi had brought treats in for his birthday. He’d been so excited to share something with all his classmates, and then he’d found out another classmate had the same birthday and had brought in treats as well. He didn’t want to have to hide the feelings of betrayal under a shield of politeness. 

Bokuto was for _him._

Akaashi had the sense he was about to hit some sort of major epiphany and decided to postpone it. Bokuto and his opponent had started the match. Akaashi judged their placement; Bokuto was returning first. It had been three points. Clean return, cross-court. Bokuto won, they switched sides. 

Simple enough. Bokuto would probably finish off this guy quickly. If he was having trouble with Bokuto’s returns, he’d be powerless in the face of his serves. 

Oikawa had stopped talking, finally. 

Akaashi really didn’t know what to do with him, sometimes. Oikawa was a good friend, but (not to sound like Iwaizumi) he hid it far inside an awful personality. It frustrated Akaashi. He didn’t understand why Oikawa had to hide things like determination and intelligence and actual consideration for other humans under some pretty-boy player facade. Actually, it was sort of an open secret. Open as in, he and Suga had some pretty good theories but they’d never had the sadistic tendencies to ask Oikawa to confirm. 

They were friends.

“Kei-chan! Are you _absolutely sure_ you’re only here for research purposes?”

They were no longer friends. 

“Yes,” Akaashi said, then cursed himself. He’d been giving Oikawa the silent treatment. Damn. 

“Nothing to do with a certain prematurely grey singles ace? Top three in the country?”

“No,” Akaashi said, though he knew the tips of his ears were turning red. He reached up to pull his hair down to cover them. 

Oikawa sighed performatively and inquisitively. “To be honest, Kei-chan, I did get that vibe from you,”

No way were they about to have _this_ conversation right now. Akaashi took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Mistake, all of the times Oikawa had tried to set him up with a lady-friend of his flashed in his mind. He opened them, not focusing on the game but on somewhere past the horizon. He made a small sound to signal to Oikawa to continue. 

“Never were really interested in girls, but you and Kiyoko get along well. She trusts you. Girls are like that, you know? And you’re good at literature,”

Akaashi refrained from wrinkling his nose. 

“I’m really not surprised. You blushed every time Take-chan talked to you for two weeks your first year. Your hair always looks nice, too, even though you don’t have, like special products. Definitely not a two-in-one kinda guy. And you always keep your socks on in the locker room, but you never look down,”

Akaashi was now a little unsettled. It sounded a bit as if Oikawa was reciting from a spreadsheet. But apparently, he was just getting started. 

“I mean, you have little scars on your ears from where they’ve been pierced, and once I ran into you last summer with, like, three earrings in your left ear. Also, you lower your voice when you have to talk to–”

“Yeah, I get it. I’m gay. Christ, Oikawa, you sound like a detective or something,” Akaashi said, ducking his head. 

Oikawa waved a hand and pushed his glasses up from where they’d slipped down his nose. “Do your parents know?”

“No,” Akaashi said. He started cracking his knuckles. One, two, three.

“How long have you known?”

Four, five. “Since I was thirteen,”

“Are you sure?”

All the knuckles, now. “Yes,”

“Have you ever had a crush on me?”

Other hand. “No,”

“Is Ushiwaka hotter than me?”

One, two, three. “I’d rather marry Ushiwaka than go on a single date with you,”

“How do you know if you’re a top or a bottom?”

Four, five. “You have sex,”

“Have you ever had se–”

“You know, Oikawa?” Akaashi said, turning in his seat. “You need to learn what a boundary is,” he tried to sound like he was joking, but he wasn’t successful. “You don’t ask me about my goddamn wet dreams and I don’t ask you why you’re still dating what’s-her-name when you’ve obviously been _in love_ with Iwaizumi since before I’ve known you!”

Oikawa’s expression stopped in a half-open gasp, and Akaashi realized what he’d said. 

“I’m sorry, I–forget it. I didn’t mean it, it’s not, um,” 

Oikawa stayed silent, a flush overtaking his entire face. 

“I just, yeah. With Bokuto. Yeah, I, um. Like him,” Akaashi said. He needed to fix this. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have projected, I was thinking–”

“No,” Oikawa said. He smiled weakly. “You meant it. You’re, um, I think–I shouldn’t have–I thought–” He shook his head, looked up at the sky, stood up. “I bet we’ll beat them tomorrow, don’t you think? I bet you’ll beat Bokuto.”

Then he turned and left.

Akaashi buried his face in his hands. He felt like crying. He’d just– he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d just done. It had just… slipped out. He’d been thinking about it, and it just… yeah. This was how it was. 

But he’d said it out loud. He _liked_ Bokuto. Liked him in the way that middle school girls gossip about during lunch, had a _crush_ on him in the way that kindergartners obsess over and imitate. Akaashi wasn’t sure if he was relieved or terrified. 

Bokuto and his opponent were walking off the court. They must have finished. Bokuto scanned the bleachers again; this time he saw Akaashi. 

He waved and gave him a thumbs up. It gave Akaashi butterflies, to not only know what he was doing but why he was doing it. Akaashi had an all-consuming crush on Bokuto. 

It was too much. Akaashi pulled out his phone. 

To: Bokuto

Akaashi: Sorry, I’ve got to go. Looking forward to playing you tomorrow!

It wasn’t a lie. God, Akaashi was equal parts guilt and giddy, equal parts dreading having to face Oikawa and dreading having to face Bokuto. He sort of wanted divine intervention, wanted some old god to claim him and pull him through the ground into the underworld never to return. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending) no god was around to hear Akaashi’s prayer. The next day had him dragging his toes out to the tennis courts. He’d texted Oikawa last night, apologized, but Oikawa hadn’t even read it. 

Oikawa was early, earlier than Akaashi. He looked more lost than he’d ever looked before, standing out in the middle of the court, hitting serve after serve perfectly over the net. His ball-basket was nearly empty. Akaashi set his bag down on a cold metal bench and didn’t watch. But when the basket emptied and Oikawa’s hands reached for a tennis ball and closed around nothing, Akaashi got up and helped him pick up tennis balls. 

They didn’t say anything to each other. It was odd, tense, but Akaashi didn’t know what else to do. 

“Hey! Shittykawa! Don’t wear yourself out before we even get to play!” Iwaizumi. He had just arrived and thrown his bag near Akaashi’s. 

Oikawa colored; Akaashi’d bet money he’d been avoiding Iwaizumi all day. 

“Cut him some slack, he broke up with his girlfriend last night,” he heard Suga say. Akaashi’s eyes widened. Oikawa never broke up with his girlfriends; they always broke up with him. 

He looked up at Oikawa, Oikawa continued looking down. Then, for some reason, he smiled and met Akaashi’s eyes. “Wish me luck, huh?”

Akaashi blinked. “Good luck,” he said. 

They could pull this off. He could pull this off. 

His phone buzzed. Two messages.

Bokuto: !! we’re almost there !!!

Kuroo: bokuto’s about to piss his pants

He thought for a moment, then responded.

To: Bokuto

Akaashi: great! looking forward to our match today!

To: Kuroo

Akaashi: do i need to grab a towel

He turned off his phone and put it in his bag. Kuroo was probably joking. Even if he wasn’t, Akaashi kept a roll of paper towels in his racquet bag.

“Hey, hey, hey! Akaashi!” Before he knew it, Akaashi was tackled from behind. Then gently pressed into a hug, Bokuto’s arms enveloping him almost casually. Akaashi felt his face heat. Oikawa gave him a look. Akaashi flipped him off.

He patted Bokuto’s shoulder and he released him. Akaashi did his best not to stumble away.

“Do I get a hug, too?” Suga said. Akaashi jumped; he hadn't heard him walk up.

Bokuto blinked, then smiled. “Sure,” he said. He gave Suga a somewhat shorter hug.

Suga popped out of it, and whispered to Akaashi, “His biceps are very nice, aren't they?”

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “I guess,”

Suga slapped his arm. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Takeda raised his clipboard then and called them all to attention. He had a slip of paper from Fukurodani’s coach listing who was which rank, but Takeda barely had to glance at it. He handed Akaashi a can of tennis balls and told him to go to the first court.

Akaashi nodded and Bokuto followed.

“Hey Akaashi, I’m so good now,” he said. They took places on either side of the net.

“Yeah,” Akaashi said. It was a very intelligent answer.

“I’ve been practicing all week and guess what?”

“What?”

Bokuto puffed out his chest and exclaimed proudly, “I won all my matches!”

Akaashi already knew this. “Really? That’s impressive. I haven't won any matches this week yet,”

Bokuto laughed. “That's because you haven't played any!”

Earnest, Suprisingly. Bokuto is truthful, and sometimes it takes him a second to get jokes. He might get mildly distracted about something you say and wonder if you were joking or serious. 

“But I’m still gonna win,” Bokuto continued.

Nothing was coming to mind. Akaashi went completely blank. “Uh, okay,”

Bokuto cocked his head. “What do you mean, okay?”

Akaashi shrugged. “I mean that average people usually overestimate their skills,” he said. Then he winced. That was probably too heavy-handed—

But Bokuto laughed again, the sound filling up the court, echoing, then dissipating into the sky and leaving the empty sound of the ball rhythmically thwacking against concrete.

They did a few serves in silence, Bokuto serving, Akaashi receiving. Then they switched. Akaashi declared he was all warmed up if Bokuto was, then Bokuto said, “Wait, did you call me average?”

Akaashi laughed, and Bokuto smiled a little in return. “I did,”

Maybe the whole collecting weaknesses thing was going to pay off.

Bokuto won the racquet toss. He chose to serve first, and Akaashi switched up the sides of court so that Bokuto would have to serve on the side he didn't warm up on. It could be a bit of a disadvantage to Akaashi, too, but he was used to these courts. He wouldn't have any trouble receiving, even with Bokuto’s serves.

0 - 0. Love all.

Akaashi thought the score a second before Bokuto said it, then steadied himself. Bokuto threw the ball in the air and caught it on his racquet. He bounced it three times against the court, then grabbed the ball with his left hand and wiped it against the outer seam of his shorts.

Akaashi shifted his weight into the balls of his feet. Bokuto tossed the ball into the air, his racquet back, the sun glinting on the strings. It would be outside.

He sprung into action a second before the ball bounced, snatching the ball with his racquet and sending it right back to where Bokuto stood. But Bokuto anticipated it and sent it back, away from Akaashi. It was nearly out. Akaashi couldn't make it in time.

love - 15

The next point was the same. Akaashi pulled off the receive, but Bokuto sent the ball back with equal ferocity.

Akaashi won one. It was a lucky shot, really. The ball tipped the top of the net and fell just onto Bokuto’s side of the court. It was a deadly shot in the long-court game he and Bokuto were playing, but it was unintentional. He couldn't rely on that happening again.

But he wanted it to. Bokuto’s eyes widened when he realized he couldn't make the shot, but he jumped forward anyway, racquet outstretched, shirt flapping behind him at the waist and wrinkling at the shoulders. He caught himself on the concrete with his left hand, then pushed himself up.

“Nice shot,” he said.

Akaashi nodded. Nice shot.

Bokuto won the next point, and the point after. He won the first set.

On the switchover, Akaashi thought about saying something, about exploiting another one of Bokuto’s weaknesses. But it was too early, he decided. He didn't want to play mind games with Bokuto at every opportunity. He knew his team wasn't exactly known for sportsmanship, but he’d already been a dick at one match with Bokuto. He didn't need to add to his record extraneously.

It must have been the right decision, because Akaashi won the next set. 

1-1 

1-2 

2-2 

Akaashi was playing catch-up with Bokuto. They were winning on their serves, losing on receives. He needed to break Bokuto’s serve. Let’s see, if he took a step backward and hit the ball to the center of the court…

3-2 

But the next set, Bokuto broke Akaashi’s serve. 

3-3 

3-4 

It was a few losses, but Akaashi could come back. Bokuto had drank a lot of water during the last switchover. Akaashi could get a few well-placed drop shots in and Bokuto wouldn't be able to react them as quickly as he normally would.

4-4 

5-4 

Before he knew it, Akaashi was a point away from winning. Bokuto was two points away from him. Akaashi even had room to spare, if Bokuto won another point. He’d still need another to tie it. 

It was 7-6.

Match point. Akaashi’s serve. He had to clear his mind, look at anything but Bokuto, go into soft focus. If he looked at Bokuto, he'd see the concentration on the other boy’s face, see the earnest competitiveness.

The ball soared high into the air. Akaashi’s racquet caught it just after its peak and pushed it across the court into the service box. Bokuto stumbled to get it, lobbed it high and to the center of the court.

Akaashi slammed it past Bokuto to the service line. On his next serve, there was a fire behind Bokuto’s eyes. You could see it, it read. _I am not losing this point_. It was almost scary, Bokuto’s face drawn into utter seriousness and intensity.

Bokuto won the next point. And the next.

But Akaashi was not losing this point, either. He tied up the score at 30-30, then sent a ball right to Bokuto’s feet. 40-30. Match point. For sure. All Akaashi had to do—

He served, and Bokuto’s return blew right past him.

Deuce.

They battled out the deuce for quite some time. As soon as one party would get the advantage, a stumble or stray ball would knock them back to deuce. They danced. Akaashi watched Bokuto’s eyes, watched them scan for openings, lines, weakness. He watched his hair, watched it bounce in the wind and with every step, watched the way the grey strands reacted differently than the black ones.

And then Akaashi saw his opening. He emptied his mind, hit the ball like he knew he could, like he did in practice. It bounced, then it bounced another time. Perfect drop shot, nearly parallel to the net. 

8-6.

Akaashi won. 

He stood on the court in shock for a moment. Bokuto's hand entered his vision. He placed his hand in it, then rebooted his brain and shook Bokuto’s hand. 

“Good game,” he breathed.

“Good game.” Bokuto said, somewhat less surprised. But he didn't look devastated, like Akaashi had expected he would if he lost. Maybe a little deflated, but he should pop up soon.

It was probably because this was just practice. On Saturday, it was the real thing. The Kanto Tournament. Bokuto had probably learned a few tricks he hadn't shared today. 

“Wanna watch Kuroo and Oikawa?” Akaashi said. “I think they just started,”

Bokuto nodded. His eyes narrowed, though, and his shoulders were tense. They walked out of the court and Akaashi reported the score to Takeda. Bokuto verified the score, and they went to the bleachers.

Suga was already there, his match having ended about twenty minutes prior. He leaned over to Bokuto.

“Wanna make a bet?”

Bokuto looked to Akaashi. Akaashi shrugged. “It’s your money,” he said,

“Sure. On what?”

Suga pointed a thumb to the match on the court in front of them. “2000 yen on Kuroo and Tsukki,”

A little grin spread across Bokuto’s face. “So I’ve got Oikawa and Iwaizumi?”

Akaashi resisted the urge to scoff. Of course Suga had noticed the tension between Iwaizumi and Oikawa and tried to profit off it at the earliest opportunity. What a capitalist.

They watched the game pretty intently, to all of their credit. Akaashi supposed it had to do with the money on the line.

And the barely-audible comments Tsukishima and Kuroo made at every opportunity. 

Oikawa crumbled under them, and Iwaizumi was too focused on trying to lighten his partner’s workload. 

They lost, and Bokuto sank into the bleachers, as much as it was possible to sink into metal bleachers. “I always lose this sort of thing,” he lamented.

Akaashi leaned over. “You never really stood a chance anyway. This bastard’s always rigging the odds,”

Suga smiled angelically and held out his hand.

Bokuto dug out the cash from his racquet bag and passed it to Suga. While he was distracted, Akaashi slipped an equal amount into the other side of Bokuto’s racquet bag.

\---

Racquet spin - Before high school level games, the opponents decide which player serves first by spinning the racquet on its head. All racquets have a marking on the bottom of the grip. If a player calls the direction it lands correctly, then they get to choose whether they serve or receive. The losing player decides which side of the court they will start on.

“Nice shot” - It’s considered common courtesy in tennis to compliment your opponent when they win a point against you. Probably a remnant of country-club manners.

Match point - This is the point that, if won, will finish the match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i really thought i would write like a million words during this month oops. i completely forgot i have to apply for college. anyways deadlines for that are in like a few days so i'll probably be able to start writing bokuaka at a truly feverish pace sometime uhh within a month. there's not very many chapters to go and i have a clear plan for each of them.
> 
> as always, i love y'all's comments so much!! you have no idea how much they brighten my day!!


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